From Me to You
by Aisukuri-Mu Studio
Summary: .:C:. A series of adventures between little England and Rome, because who knows what will happen between a rebellious island and the world's strongest empire over two hundred years? Well, apparently a lot.
1. Prologue

**Crystal's Notes:** Omgsh an incredibly short beginning to a series of ficlets? x3 Yes, indeed! And there is reason. While doing my usual research for "My Country Still" I came upon interesting information of the guy named Agricola, who apparently changed the Roman-Britannia relationship for the better. x3 And I thought to myself, while reading through all the things he taught the Britons, saying, _Y'know...that's really cute. Ironically enough, I could see Roman Empire teaching a very stubborn England all these things..._

But I have no room for that in "My Country Still" because I doubt Alfred and them would have the patience to sit through every little lesson England learned. xD And besides, it'd take up way too many chapters!

So I thought to myself, _Ficlet time!_

And thus this was born. 8D This will be updated much quicker than any other story, mainly because it's a series of pointless little Roman Empire-teaching-England-lessons thingymajigg. I have a list of what the Romans actually _did_ teach the Britons, so I'm gonna follow history to the best of my ability. xD And have fun with it at the same time!

Yay little Iggy! 8D

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Hetalia. Unfortunately. (wistful sigh)

Enjoy!

PS: Oh yes! To those who aren't familiar with the way I write things in "My Country Still." xDD Because the Roman Empire language was officially Latin, and among all the other research I already have to do to keep things somewhat historically accurate, I just keep the things everyone says in _italics_. xD Much simpler.

There! 8D NOW you may enjoy!

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><p>Agricola was one man Roman Empire was not sure whether or not he liked him at first. The man himself seemed far too compassionate for a military hero to be towards his conquered provinces. But no one could doubt that he was influential and powerful in his visions of a happy, thriving empire that raised equally happy, thriving subjects.<p>

The man especially loved Britannia.

So much so that the instant he became governor of the province, he questioned the empire where 'the little boy' was, the one he had heard his mother, the real Britannia back in Rome, speak of so often and with such fondness in her eyes.

Really, it made Roman Empire sick. The boy-as well as his brothers-had been downright _pains_ to try and take care of. Sometimes, he wondered why he even bothered with them. Little Italy back home was so much nicer, and friendlier, and complacent...heck, even the Gauls were not as bad, although they were, undoubtedly, very weird. What was he doing here, he found himself wondering, on this annoying, fearless, and fiery little island?

Oh yeah. Trying to run an empire.

He sighed as he neared the room in the back of his house in Londinium that little Britannia liked to hide in (from him) whenever he could. But really, he wondered sometimes why the boy even bothered. Roman Empire knew where he was hiding. So what was the point...?

Stepping into the unlit room, he pointed toward a corner hidden in complete shadow where the twerp usually curled himself up and glanced over to his governor, who appeared to be having trouble adjusting to the lack of light. He gave the man a few minutes, and then said for clarification with a shrug, "_He hides himself in that corner most of the day. Does not ever come out except occasionally for food."_

Agricola looked greatly surprised. "_Have you ever tried_ forcing _him out?"_

The taller man gave his companion a look that said, '_I'm the freakin' Roman Empire. Of _course_ I've tried to force him.' _But then he said verbally, "_He bites me when I do. So I decided-fine. What does it matter to me if he bores himself to death?"_

Agricola gave him a knowing glare, a silent scolding. One that only a governor of his could get away with his life for having given. "_And you wonder why he hates you so much."_

_"He's given me every right to hate him back, too!"_

_"That matters not,"_ Agricola replied easily, dismissively. As if Roman Empire's feelings were petty compared to that of the little child's he was now in charge of. He took a careful step forward in the darkness towards the corner where the little one was apparently hiding. "_If you want to rule a long-lasting empire, better to gain respect from your provinces than make them your enemies, no?"_

Roman Empire sighed, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly even as he skeptically watched the governor. "_That's not the typical Roman way."_

_"Perhaps not. But it very well could soon be."_ Agricola grinned to him over his shoulder, before coming to a stop in front of some barrels that looked suspiciously arranged to be a blockade of sorts from any unwanted outside forces. The man, chuckling to himself at the sight, bended over and placed his hands on his knees as he spoke in hushed, soothing tones to the barrels. Beckoning. "_Hello. Are you little southern Britannia, by any chance?"_

There was silence for a long moment. Then he heard a very quiet, meek, "_...go away..."_

It made Agricola's smile grow just the slightest. Ah. So the little one w_as_ there, somewhere. "_I would like to meet you, if that is all right. My name is Agricola. I am your new governor."_

There was a change in the atmosphere. No longer was it so frigid and unfriendly; suddenly it became curious, still a little tense, but not so shut-off. The boy dared to speak up again. "_You seem different than the others."_

The 37-year-old man chuckled. "_I like to think I am._" He tried to make his tone as warm as possible-as inviting to the child as he could be.

"_Is...is Roman Empire with you?"_

Agricola looked over his shoulder, seeing the tall, strong, strapping silhouette of the empire himself standing in the open doorway. He nodded, answering quietly, "_Yes. But he will not hurt you."_

_"You lie."_

The new governor bit back a sigh. The conviction with which the child hissed at him was nearly overwhelming. Just how bad had the two's relationship gotten, he couldn't help but warily wonder? "_He will not hurt you,"_ he repeated carefully, firmly. Still comforting, but with more of the military commanding tone he had received from years of war. "_As your governor, I will not let him."_

A calculating silence. Tentative. The air hinged on what the child would decide, teetering dangerously over either side of the picket fence. But eventually, he heard the boy finally murmur, "_Are you...sure?"_

Agricola nodded even though the child most likely would not see it. "_I am sure."_

_"How can I trust you?"_

Hmm. Good question. The governor peered back over his shoulder to his empire's face, but Roman Empire only shrugged at the unasked request for help, leaving the middle-aged man to his own devices. Aggravatingly enough. He sighed, turning back to the boy. "_I cannot fully prove to you my capabilities over him. After all, I am no emperor. But I am your governor, and you are my charge, and I assure you, little one, that I will do everything in my power to make things right between us. To make you proud to be one of us."_

_"To make me proud to be a Roman...?"_ It was a shy question of clarification.

_"Yes."_

There was an angry shuffle behind the barrels, from which a louder, stubborn exclamation of, "_I will _never_ be proud to be a Roman! You cannot make me!"_

Behind him, he heard Roman Empire take an angry step forward, as if about to punish the child for such a statement, but Agricola quickly held up a hand to stall him. He could not allow any more physical harm to befall this boy. That would not help matters at all.

So instead, he simply cleared his throat, trying again. "_Listen to me, Britannia,"_ he called quietly, pausing only minimally._ "I know my previous emperors have not been kind to you. I know that I myself, in fighting my battles against your people, have not been kind to you. But I assure you that I will not hurt you any longer. You have my word."_

_"But I cannot trust you!"_

_"From today on, you may,"_ he muttered in patient response. "_I seek only to teach you our ways. To show you our culture-"_

_"-and to get rid of my own?"_

Agricola shook his head. "_Not completely. It is tradition that you are allowed to continue your religious practices, little Britannia. I will not strip that much away from you. But I _will _show you our inventions. Our buildings, our traditions...everything about the Romans that may help you and your people prosper."_

There was no response to that, so Agricola took the silence as a suggestion for him to continue. "_It is all for the good of you, Britannia."_

There was a scoff; a sound of doubt from the behind the barrels. "_You mean Roman Empire, right?"_

A shrug. "_Yes. But also for you."_ He paused to let that sink in._ "We are not your enemy anymore, little southern Britannia. Although we wish to expand our empire, we no longer mean you-or your brothers-any harm."_

A tentative silence. Once again, the child must have been thinking, and very carefully, too, for it took him a while to finally reply, "_What about...my people who are slaves?"_

_"As you all adapt to Roman culture, there will no longer be the need for inferiorities. We will all be equal under Roman law." _Agricola smiled warmly. "_Which, we will teach you."_

_"But that does not...seem entirely fair."_

"_Perhaps to you, it does not,"_ Agricola concurred patiently. "_But it will in time, if you allow us to teach you our ways. Are you willing to give us a chance?"_

There was a long, uncertain silence. Agricola could feel his back muscles begin to complain from having been hunched over for such a long time, and with a wince, he straightened up just slightly to crack them. But if he had not been paying such close attention, he almost would have missed it, the tiny little consent the young province finally gave him.

"_A-all right. I...I will listen. But nothing more, okay?"_

Agricola grinned. It was a start.


	2. Bath Time!

**Crystal's Notes:** Oh my gosh…so tired…I go sleep now. =.= Kthxbai.

…aw, all right. I suppose I can explain a few things. I did probably more extensive research than I had to on Roman Baths, but the point is—most of the content and explanation of R.E. and Arthur's time in the bathhouse is true and canon with history. 8D Yay! Always makes me happy.

And Fishbourne. Agricola's palace he had built in Londinium. xD In heard there are still some ruins where it was built that have remained until today…? I can't remember, nor can I be completely sure because hmmm…oh yeah. I'm AMERICAN.

Oh, and Agricola really _was_ a person from history. xD He really _was_ the governor of Britannia that changed everything between Romans and Britons. xD But on a side-note…yes. xD His name really does mean "farmer." Ironically. xD So he shall reap what he sows. Harhar. xD

…I really need to go to bed now…PLEASE ENJOY! And thanks for all your kind reviews and favorites and story alerts! : ) Really, that means SO SO MUCH! Can't thank you enough.

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><p><em>"So...you named it 'Fishbourne'?"<em>

_"Yes! And do you not think it is a fabulous name for such a fabulously fine palace?"_

Britannia looked entirely unimpressed as he watched his people work to build the said 'fine' establishment, hunkered over as they were, sweat lining their brow. He absolutely hated it. The strong emotion inside him made him grip his little arms, crossed over his chest as they were, tighter.

Frowning, he replied, "_It sounds silly to me."_

"_Oh, of course it would sound silly to you. But imagine! This will be our new home, little Britannia! And it will be an establishment for generations to recognize and be in awe of!" _there was something wistful in Agricola's voice as he spoke, his eyes catching a far away distance. "_Indeed, something to be remembered by..."_ he murmured.

Britannia regarded the man out of the corner of his eye carefully, letting a long silence drift between them, before abruptly shattering it by a scoff and looking back to the half-finished palace before him, clearly displeased.

It was this reaction that stirred Agricola into another hurried reaction in trying to lift the boy's spirits. After all, he had just gotten the kid to come out of his hiding place and talk to him; he couldn't go and disappoint the boy back into hiding. That would have made all his efforts thus far be in vain. He turned around, taking one of the boy's shoulders and making him follow suit even as he continued to speak.

"_Well, then, off of such petty matters, right?" _he chuckled, steering Britannia away. "_Have you seen our other establishments being built in your land?"_

_"Unfortunately."_

_"Great!"_ Oh, this one was a tough case. He cleared his throat. "_Well, then...I see that you don't like them very much."_

A dry glare. A silent, '_What was your first clue?' _that made him shake his head in gentle scolding. "_I thought we decided you would give us a try," _he reprimanded.

"_That does not mean I have to _like_ everything of yours,"_ the boy grumbled back, refusing to make eye contact with the older gentleman.

Agricola bit back a sigh. Well, okay, so he had to grant the little one _that_ much. But he still wasn't helping matters; although a few days had passed since he had first met his governing province, the little tyke was proving to be more and more stubborn each passing day, downright refusing nearly any calm, civilized conversation between him and Roman Empire by now. In fact, whenever the two crossed paths, there was sure to be an argument of some sort started up.

Agricola wanted to fix that.

And speak of the devil, as if on cue, he could see Roman Empire himself at that impeccable moment, towel thrown over his shoulder, as he made his way to the community bathhouse a distance away from them.

But all the same, it got the gears working in the governor's head…

"_Roman Empire!"_ he suddenly called out, catching the other's attention. He could feel Britannia's shoulders tense when the strong brunette turned their way. "_Come here for a moment, if it is not too much trouble."_

However, the dark look in the older one's fierce blue eyes as he regarded his governor gave him the idea that, well, it very much _would_ trouble him to come within even a ten-foot-radius of the pain called Britannia, as Agricola seemed so keen on suggesting. But the middle-aged man purposefully ignored the glare, continually waving his hand encouragingly for his beloved empire to approach them.

Ancient Rome sighed.

"_Yes, Agricola…?"_ he asked annoyed, crossing his arms over his chest as he kept his eyes trained on the shorter governor. Not once, while speaking or walking towards them, did he glance at the smaller brat beside the man's sturdy legs; the sandy-blonde haired kid wasn't worth the attention (or effort, however small that may have been).

But Agricola seemed not to notice. Or if he did, he didn't act like it. Instead, he talked animatedly, excitedly, which meant (unfortunately for Roman Empire), the man had an idea. "_I was considering…"_

"…_whatever it is, I decline."_

The dark-haired man frowned. "_So soon? But it was such a fun request."_

"_Fun for _you,_ old senile man. Not for me."_ He could only assume it had something to do with Britannia, which would make matters much worse for him.

Agricola gave him a challenging look—honestly, a centuries-old empire calling _him_ old, when he wasn't even 40?—as he said, _"Fine. I meant _beneficial_ for you, then. Does that sound better?"_

"_Closer to the truth. So yes."_

A half sort-of-chuckle. Agricola shook his head with it, restraining a sigh. Oh, how fickle nations could often be… _"Now that you are willing to hear me out, allow me to present my proposition." _With that, he placed a hand on the small child's back, pushing him forward a step—just one—but even that set both of the quarrelers on edge, tensing instinctually. They watched each other warily. _"Roman Empire…I request that you introduce young Britannia here to the concept of our bathhouses."_

"…_what."_

It was not a question; more like a challenge. But Agricola was not daunted. He went on as if his empire had not said anything at all. _"There are two good things to come of this: one, bonding time. Two—"_

"—_I don't want to bond with_ him!—"But even little Britannia's adamant cry went ignored.

"—_it will immerse our new province in at least one aspect of our culture that's been newly introduced to him." _Agricola brought his hands together in a loud, affirmative clap. He looked between the two. _"So. Any objections?"_

Oh, there were plenty. He could see that much in the heated glares the two nations gave him, but having been a military man of several years, he was not one to be easily intimidated or swayed. He went on before they could talk. _"Good! Then off you two go_, _now."_

It was, apparently, the final word on the matter.

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><p>"<em>How is that man able to boss us around like that, anyway?"<em>

It was the first words spoken between the two since they had (regretfully) entered the bathhouse's changing room. The air was already tense—awkward—but Britannia was glad that no one else was in there with them. It saved both of them from even further embarrassment as they began to undress.

It was a while before Roman Empire responded, and when he did, it was in dejection to purposefully portray his thoughts on the matter. _"He is a human of authority. No matter what he says, we have to follow. Even if it is…"_ Here, he paused just the slightest, halting as he placed his garments in one of the square compartments above the benches. "_…even if it is rather _stupid."

Britannia, quickly following suit and placing his garments in another square hole (one that was closer to the ground so he could reach it), couldn't help but smirk back. _"For once, we agree on something."_

Roman Empire shrugged, not truly wanting to admit to that statement. Instead, he grabbed one of the very light, thin garments hanging off to the side and threw his small enemy another one. _"I am going to assume you have never been to one of these before."_ At the thought of that, the older man quickly scrunched up his nose in distaste, muttering something about 'disgusting forest dwellers,' much to the agitation of the sandy-blonde haired one. But he ignored all angered, miffed glares, and continued as he slid on his own thin clothing. _"This you will wear while you are bathing. It is called a _subligaculum."

"…_right…" _

Roman Empire rolled his eyes at seeing the smaller one struggling with such a long garment (made for a much larger man; this brat was still yet a child). He sighed. _"It is not like they come in smaller sizes. You will just have to deal with it."_

"_Well, you surely are accommodating."_

The brat's sarcasm was going to drive him crazy if they did not hurry this up. With a sigh, he hastily shoved the boy forward, making him nearly drip over the large clothing as he hurried him through the first set of doors and entered the largest room in the entire building. The exercise room—or the '_palaestrae_,' as they called it—which Roman Empire had already previously decided that they would not spend any time in (although he usually, like all of his subjects, spent large amounts of time playing sports and working out there on normal days).

He made sure to talk plentiful enough as they moved along, purposefully leaving no room for the sandy-blonde-haired trouble maker to butt in. _"You are fortunate this is a _balneae, _and not a _thermae," he muttered, glancing around and once again noticing, to his relief, that no one else was in the premises.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Britannia interrupted him. _"What do you mean _'balneae'? _I have not heard _that_ word before…"_

Roman Empire raised a thin eyebrow at the boy's back. So…the brat was curious. Or at least, willing to learn a new word. _"It means 'private bathhouse,' I suppose you can best describe it. Or at least, it's not public, although the owner of the bathhouse often lets others use it with only a small fee for entrance."_

Britannia was quiet a moment, the little cogs working in his head, as Roman Empire could well tell. He tried to ignore the smug smirk that wanted to worm its way onto his face upon that realization.

After they walked across the large room and made it to the doors of the next chamber, the much smaller one finally spoke up again. _"So to whom does this particular balneae belong?"_

"_A soon-to-be neighbor of yours, once you and Agricola move in to Fishbourne." _Roman Empire ushered Britannia (who had worked out how to walk with his much-too-long robe by that point) into the next room—the _tepidarium_, or the 'warm room'—which was, as its name implies, much hotter in temperature than the room they had just previously been walking through.

Britannia noticed this change with a slightly-shocked face, turning around to Roman Empire with wide green eyes, sweat already breaking out on his brow. He began fanning himself. _"W-where is the _water_? I thought we were taking a _bath_ not drying up in a _desert_!"_

Roman Empire once again raised an eyebrow. But this time, the smirk won, toying with the corner of his mouth just the slightest, much to his annoyance. _"We are. The actual pool is in the next room, even hotter than this one because it is the closest to the furnace." _He allowed his voice to convey how amused he was by this situation as he continued, saying, _"Perhaps if you are getting this overheated in just the preliminary room, you should back out. Call it a day."_

"_Good!" _Much to his surprise, Britannia actually seemed relieved at the idea. Swiftly, the boy turned around on his feet, hurriedly walking towards the door even as he continued responding. _"If it means I can stop hanging around you, then I will gladly take my leave!"_

Roman Empire rolled his eyes.

The door was almost within the sandy-blonde-haired child's reach—and it was such a glorious, coveted, and not to mention cold-aired freedom it was that awaited him on the other side!—when suddenly he felt his world come out from under him, and his center of balance was placed on his stomach as he was thrown over the brunette's strong shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It took him a full minute to realize what had happened, and when he did, it was almost too late. The older empire was already making his way across the heated room in the complete _opposite_ direction he intended to go, instead heading towards the next room. The dreaded _caldarium._

Instantly, defenses kicked in. Literally, as Britannia instinctually began to vainly throw his thin legs about, trying to land a good hit somewhere—anywhere. _"W-what are you doing?" _he shouted. _"Put me down this instant!"_

"_First of all,"_ Roman Empire calmly began, ignoring the brat's demands. _"I am not doing this for you. I am doing it for myself, because I simply cannot stand to have a province of mine walk around all day smelling and looking like a pure-bred rat."_ He spat the words even as he reached forward with his free hand, opening the door to the next room with practiced ease. The blast of hot, nearly-blistering air that washed over the two after that movement almost made it hard to breathe for Britannia. So much so, that he couldn't even bring himself to retort to the brunette's insult—which was especially surprising to the Roman Empire. The only reason, in fact, that he hesitated just a bit before entering the _caldarium_. Perhaps the other part of it, he assured himself however, was the fact that the boy was being captive over his own diaphragm…

Whatever it was, he ignored it and soon the two heard the door close shut behind them as they were enveloped in nearly stifling heat. Britannia verbally panted behind his ear, bringing the taller male to finally set him down on his own bare feet in only minimal pity.

But upon being placed on the ground, the blonde-haired boy instantly hissed in pain, dancing upon his feet to constantly relieve them of the temperature. "_Hot…hot…hot…!"_

"_You will get used to it._" After all, Roman Empire himself was proof of that much, right? With a dismissive shrug, he then walked past the small child and towards the large pool in the middle of the room, which was accompanied by a waist-high fountain off to the side. He gestured towards the latter even as he called over his shoulder to the boy, _"If you want, the _labrum_ over there is full of cooler water. It is usually used for after-bathing to rinse off the face, but if you want to bathe in that instead of this one, I believe I can allow it since no one else is around…"_

The quiet _splash_ he heard even before he finished talking made his mouth quirk to the side yet again. Ah youngsters…

The room, from that point on, was perfectly quiet between the two as Roman Empire bathed. And because the other was being so (surprisingly) tranquil and complacent, he decided to take as much time as possible, letting himself (ironically) soak in the moment as much as he could. Rewarding himself, sort of, for being such a successful empire…

However, the funny thing about finally relaxing is the fact that that is typically when you remember stuff the most.

Such as…a certain province not having any oil or strigil to wash himself with.

Roman Empire sighed. _He's almost as bad as Italy…but not nearly so much fun to take care of._ But making himself think of his homeland and the little grandchild that awaited him there caused too much ache in his chest; so much so that the man decided he might as well focus on other matters at hand instead of things he couldn't help.

Sliding out of the pool, he didn't let himself drip dry (the heat anyway quickly evaporated any lingering water on his garments and tanned skin), instead immediately drifting over to the _labrum_, where indeed the little one sat, nearly falling asleep, so the brunette saw with amusement. Grabbing the oil flask and strigil that sat to the side of the stone brim, he didn't even say anything as he opened the flask and poured some oil on to his hands, instantly reaching out once he had a sizeable amount and beginning to rub some into Britannia's hair.

_That_ got the reaction he was subconsciously going for.

"_W-what are you _doing_?"_ the younger one nearly screeched, spinning around in the pool and automatically scooting backwards, away from the Roman Empire in self-defense. He eyed the other one with hard, distrusting green eyes. Then he exclaimed when the older one reached out for him again, _"Do not touch me!"_

Roman Empire sighed, letting the back of his hands fall back to the top of the wall while trying not to drop the oil. _"What, so I get reprimanded for being nice?"_

"_N-no…" _The older nation's response clearly made the young one falter, but he quickly picked himself back up. _"But—but you honestly, you just started…r- rubbing my head! What was I supposed to do? You did not even warn me!"_

"_Ah, I did not…"_ But he sounded far from being guilty. Instead of truly thinking about it, he waved his hands impatiently for Britannia to come back to him. _"Now here. Let me wash your hair. You have obviously never done this sort of thing before, so I am going to teach you how to—"_

"—_I do not want to be taught anything by you!"_

Roman Empire bit back his sigh. With great intensity, his eyes snapped with a glare towards the sandy-blonde-haired brat, making sure to make a firm, unshakeable eye-contact with him even as he spoke quickly and heavily. _"It was not my command, but your governor who gave this order, and I shall do everything in my power to obey him. You should learn the same loyalty, little Britannia else whatever power you may someday grow up to be will fall apart just as quickly as it came into being."_

Not one to be easily shaken, Britannia couldn't help but feel slightly…as if he were the one in the wrong, especially after Roman Empire said those words. Something similar to conviction or guilt. This loyalty that the man was speaking of…that kind of devotion to his _governor_? To Agricola? It instantly made him scrunch his nose and shake his head. _"I do not _want _to be loyal to you and your people. I will only follow my people, and my authority, and my—"_

"—_but see where they have gotten you this far." _Roman Empire had no mirth or teasing in his eyes. It was simply a fact that he was pointing out. _"Listening to your people has brought needless rebellions and deaths. Although it has made me respect you, and truthfully…"_ Ugh, this was so hard to say. But for some reason, some part of him was okay being this honest with the boy. Perhaps it would even get them to the point that Agricola was so keen on bringing them to. And if telling him this did it, then…the correct military response would be to do it full-heartedly. _"…truthfully, I admire your backbone, Britannia. Your fearlessness, and your fiery nature. It is strong, and commendable. But such things have been getting us nowhere, as…as Agricola has been telling us all along."_

Britannia looked away. The picture was almost humorous: a pouting child with oil dripping out of his even-messier hair. But Roman Empire did not crack a smirk this time, choosing instead to watch and wait for the little province's response.

And finally, it came.

"…_why is our relationship so important?"_

"_As if I know,"_ he snorted immediately, shrugging. But then he paused, choosing his words with unnatural caution—with care that he was not use to giving to his language. After all, he had always been a nation of action, action, action, but this little brat had always somehow challenged him in different ways. Intellectually, philosophically, and morally. Ways he wasn't used to being challenged at.

But Roman Empire found some part of him liked the challenge anyway.

"…_but I do care about it_," he finally muttered. _"I _do_ want things to be at peace here."_

"_Why?"_

Again, the challenge. With Britannia, there had always been questions, he was beginning to realize. Unlike with Italy, where there had always been mindless obedience. It made him almost long for the little brown-haired boy again, but to run away now to the safety of having his grandchild in his arms again would be cowardly.

And the Roman Empire was _anything_ but cowardly.

So he stuck with being honest.

"_I want to go home."_

Silence. A pure, perfect, amazed silence.

He looked to Britannia, and found to his surprise some sort of understanding suddenly enter the other one's green eyes as they regarded him carefully. It was a long time before he spoke again, and when he did, it was with yet another challenging tone in his voice; guarded. _"I do not suppose that if you go home, you will never return."_

That made the older one chuckle, understanding the hidden meaning in the kid's words easily enough. _"Sadly, I will have to return at some point. But even if I did leave, you are still my province. I am here just to ensure the suppression of your rebellions. I cannot return until my civilians are assured they are safe here."_

Britannia frowned, thinking that through. Once again, there was a long, lingering blanket of silence that enveloped them as Roman Empire waited. Apparently, it troubled him to be considered a danger to commonfolk.

But the brat's next question then shocked him.

"_Hypothetically—and just thinking out loud here, because it is not as if I am truly considering this in the first place—but, theoretically, what would being a province of yours completely entail?"_

Of course he wasn't truly thinking about it. Absolutely. Roman Empire had to fight the next smirk creeping onto his features. "_Trade,_" he responded immediately. _"Protection. A civilized culture. Law and government." _He shrugged."_ After that, is there anything else you need?"_

The quick nod right off the bat surprised him. "_Your word and trust."_

"_All right…" _Roman Empire responded as best he could, gently. _"Well, that should come with time—as well as _your _word and trust, I sure hope."_

Britannia shrugged. _"As I said, that would only be if I _were_ to submit being a province to you. Not that I am thinking about it at all, of course…"_

"_Of course not, because that would be absurd."_

"_Rightly so. It has never crossed my mind."_

"_I did not think it ever would."_

"_Good. Because…" _It was clear he was lying—oh how translucent the boy was, squirming in the waist-deep fountain. "…_because it has not."_

_Yet._

The word hung in the air heavily; known even without acknowledgement between the two nations—empire and province that he worked so hard to claim. They both chose to revel in the silence instead of saying anything directly, allowing all the possibilities to go unsaid and virtually unconsidered. But perhaps it was yet another little thing called 'pride' that prevented them from sharing it all.

A shame. But once again, Roman Empire would not be caught thinking about things he could not help. He turned to Britannia again, holding out his hands as invitingly as he could. "_Well, do you want to finish your bath or just sit there all day?"_

The boy frowned. _"Is that a trick question?"_

"_Partially."_

Roman Empire watched the brat as he gave a depressed sigh, but even that could not daunt the empire's pride in the fact that even though Britannia acted as if he would not move, the waters parted anyway as the boy slid himself back to the rim of the stone encasing, even turning around to have his back face the older male.

It was a huge step of trust.

"_Let us just get this over with, I suppose."_

Even as Britannia said that, Roman Empire couldn't help but think that Agricola would be proud.

Somehow.


	3. Superstition Ain't the Way

"_My ears are burning."_

It was a harmless comment, really. For all intents and purposes, it also probably should have been ignored and swept under the rug as just one of those things said to break the ice of an awkward silence. But Roman Empire ignored all these unconscious…preferences (one could call them) of little Britannia's, and instead, leaned forward from where he was sitting, lounging against cushions. His blue eyes were surprisingly curious.

"_They…are…?"_

Britannia looked at him oddly, and then tried to back away, hiding himself behind the large piece of scroll that the empire had given him to practice his Roman characters (he had never learned them properly, being too rebellious enough to even sit down at give them a chance). The candle beside him flickered slightly, the only source of light since it was yet dark outside. Probably past his bedtime, but his caretaker would not allow him to go to bed unless he finished jotting down the alphabet twenty times. He hesitantly mumbled, "_…yes…?"_

This seemed to bother the older man. He leaned back again, using a hand to scratch his chin as he thought to himself. Britannia watched him for a moment, before rolling his eyes and going back to his homework, squinting his eyes so he could see in the dim light. _Crazy old man_, he couldn't help but think. _So superstitious of everything…_

"_You know, burning ears are supposed to be a sign that someone is talking about you."_

Britannia glanced up through his shaggy set of sandy blonde bangs, but seeing as how that eclipsed a proper glare at the empire, leaned up just slightly so he could look at him completely. He raised an eyebrow, _"…really…?"_ and tried to keep the intrigue out of his voice—because really, that's such a stupid thing to think! All of the other superstitions of the Druids made _much_ more sense! These Romans were just…strange in their religious beliefs. Totally weird. They didn't know what they were dealing with.

Roman Empire nodded back to him, watching him carefully now. _"I cannot think of who it would be, though…you're not quite as stirring as I am, so it's not like some citizens might just utter a few remarkable words about you…"_

"_How mean! That is a _lie_! You _know _your people admire me!"_

Roman Empire scoffed. _"Hardly! They definitely do not!"_

"_Definitely do too!"_

"_Do _not_!"_

There was a heated silence between the two. Both were glaring at each other rather fiercely, refusing to back down to the other. But it was Roman Empire who first finally sighed. "_You know what? I will be the mature one. This is stupid."_

"_See? Exactly! And _you_ are the one who initiated it all!"_

"_Was not!"_

"_Was too!"_

"_Was _not_!"_

Britannia could not resist the urge to smirk in triumph. He didn't respond, allowing for silence instead so that the (rather childish) older one could realize what he had done a second time. And when he did, Roman Empire glared heavily. Defensively. "_Okay, that time, it wasn't my fault. _You_ started it!"_

"_Okay, okay," _Britannia chuckled to himself. _"I did."_

Roman Empire humphed. It wasn't exactly a triumph, but it was at least a point for him. _"Little brat…"_

Britannia looked up, glaring fiercely with an agape, offended mouth, and those strong green eyes of his. A strange, rare shade of green that he had also found in the kid's brothers as well. Green that was almost too vivid to be real. _"I am _not _a brat! But I most certainly am glad to be a pain to you, _Rome, _if that is what you mean."_

So rude. Rome glared at the child for a full minute, even as the head of straw-blonde hair was turned away from him, hunkered over the parchment of hastily-scribbled characters, before he decided that it was about time for said province to get an attitude-adjustment.

He stood up, and without a word, walked up and picked up the small nation, throwing him over his shoulder as he marched out of the room (ignoring the little one's cries of protest and excessive, vain kicking), down the hallway, a corner, and another hallway, and then, out of the governor's palace itself.

He was lucky it was still night. Agricola had already gone to bed, and the guards, most of them knowing who the tall, strapping brown-haired Roman was (and for those who didn't, they at least knew he was a man of great importance), allowed him to go by without so much as a raised eyebrow—and those were only aimed at the child he had over his shoulder, banging on his back with tiny fists. Britannia was proving to be quite a rowdy hassle indeed.

Another thing he would have to change about the twerp.

After seeing as how his captor wasn't going to stop any time soon, the boy, with a loud and over-exaggerated huff (just so Rome would hear it), crossed his arms as best he could, dangling as they were down the man's back. It didn't do anything to help his current situation, but it certainly made him feel better about himself.

Then, finally, they drew to a stop, and as Britannia was set back on his bare feet on the cold grass (Roman Empire didn't even let him put on sandals before they left), he finally could see where they were.

It was in one of his forests. Granted, a rather thick one; the darkness hovering behind thick, gnarled trees and overgrown vines and other green fauna seemed to have an entity of its own. Menacing, almost. The blonde shivered involuntarily at both the chill he could feel on his skin, giving him goose-bumps, and at the atmosphere. There were no faeries here as far as he could see; that, more than anything, made him feel out of place.

He frowned at his kidnapper, who remained poignantly silent the entire time, and still did, hands on his hips as he stared at the child before him with a careful gaze. Britannia, beginning to become uncomfortable (although he dared not show it), finally broke the silence. "_And what was the reason we came out here for?"_

Roman Empire didn't answer. Instead, he finally looked away from his charge, his firm stance unchanging even as his blue eyes searched the vicinity, head turning this way and that for something unseen…

Then they heard it. The sudden shriek of an owl.

Britannia jumped in fear, heart speeding up in his tiny chest at the sound. A small gasp had escaped him, and, feeling betrayed for some odd reason, he glared at Roman Empire, whom he blamed for scaring him (even if it was the owl who cawed). But his caretaker, on the opposite hand, appeared thoroughly delighted. He had that knowing, sly, yet appeased grin on his face, even as he squatted before the blonde. "_Tell me, little Britannia,"_ he began slowly. _"Know you what the shriek of an owl means?"_

The province frowned, hugging himself a bit tighter subconsciously. "_No…should I?"_ It was another stupid superstition, no doubt.

But the answer was not what he expected. "_It is an ill omen,"_ Rome said, still grinning. Then, standing up and stretching, he added easily, _"So I suggest you be very careful tonight, seeing as how you will be spending the night out here with your forest friends whom you so adore instead of the warm comfort and safety of Agricola's home."_

Britannia's eyes widened a fraction, heart speeding up again. "_W-wait…what?"_

Roman Empire turned around on his heel, hands folded behind his head as he began to slowly walk away. _"It really is too bad…if you cannot appreciate all that I have done for you, little province, then perhaps I should not take care of you at all. Leave _you_ to try and build yourself a civilization…"_

The boy caught himself before he could take a desperate step in the direction his caretaker was leaving. After all, instinct made him _almost_ chase after him. _Almost _be scared. But no! No; he couldn't do that! Frowning, Britannia puffed out his cheeks. "_Great! I…I was _waiting_ for you to…to do this! This was what I wanted! I do not need you, you stuck-up empire!"_

Roman Empire held up a hand in farewell, not even looking over his shoulder. _"Then the feeling is mutual, brat. I will see you in the morning, to hear all about how well you fared the night without me."_

"_Great!" _Britannia found himself shouting to the shadow of where the much taller nation had been just a moment previously, but now was out of sight. _"I look…_" A nervous swallow. _"…I look forward to then…"_

Silence.

Such unnatural silence.

Britannia swallowed again and looked around himself. Forests…shouldn't be this quiet, he couldn't help but recall. So why was this one that way? Where were all his faeries? Where were the unicorns? The leprechauns liked to live on big brother's island, although every once in a while they would come to his land and play…or at least, they used to. Until the Romans came...

Just thinking of the empire brought a sour taste to the child's mouth. With a frown and huff, he sat down, hugging himself more tightly. Tugging his thin robe tighter around himself, which, made him curse that caretaker of his all the more for not allowing him to bring any shoes or cloaks along with them on their little excursion! That would certainly have helped throughout the night…but no. He wouldn't go crawling back to the palace now to get them just because of a little discomfort throughout the night. He could take the chill! Heck, he had done it all the time with the Beakers and the Celts…all the time…

…but the faeries had been there, too.

So had the rabbits.

And the occasional unicorn.

There was nothing here in this forest. No life that Britannia could see. Only darkness. Only night.

Oh, and an owl, too. An owl that had apparently cursed him.

Laying down on the ground on his side, curling into a ball, the little boy tried to ward off the chill settling in him. The fear. The uncertainty. Tried to ignore the snap of a twig that would sound occasionally, or the rustle of the leaves as the wind drifted by, its dainty fingers like that of a ghost as it caressed his hair and traced patterns on his pale, bare, skinny arms.

He clenched the grass beneath him with tiny hands, willing himself to sleep. Willing the faeries to come. Willing courage to take place in his heart like a lion—like it always did. He swallowed. He could do this. Yeah, he could do this. Why was it so hard now? It was just one night outdoors…

One night in a scary, lifeless forest that felt like it wanted to kill him.

Britannia began to cry.

* * *

><p>It wasn't until he was finally out of the forest that Roman Empire began to have second thoughts.<p>

Slowly, his feet drew him to a stop as a frown made its way on to his face. Was that…really right of him to do? To scare the poor boy like that? Nonetheless to openly welcome an omen upon the child? _There could be _verspilles_ in there…_ he couldn't help but think. _Or _lemures…_they like dark places like that…_

But he had to remind himself who he was thinking about. This was _Britannia._ Number one pain in the butt, who he could never necessarily 'conquer' for ages. For decades upon decades. And who _still_ would occasionally come up with a good leader now and then to lead his people in a hard-to-manage revolt (that still always failed against Rome's superior forces, but that fact aside, he had to hand it to the brat—he was resilient). He could take care of himself. One night in the forest wasn't going to kill him; not that he could die anyway.

Still…

Roman Empire slowly turned around to regard the forest once more. Still. There was something unnerving about it. Maybe it _was_ haunted. Maybe it _had_ been the sight of a murder, or of a battle that he couldn't remember (he had had far too many to remember every single one), and thus the spirits left behind had decided to roam there. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

…or maybe it just was simply all wrong to dump a young province in there when the little one was just beginning to finally grow dependent on him.

Roman Empire sighed, bowing his head. He really should go back…shouldn't he? Despite the fact that when he saw him, the little one was most likely going to be right at home in his forest, and wouldn't want to go home anyway—it was the right thing to do. He shouldn't just get angry because the kid was being a pain. Romano was like that, too, after all. The only the difference was the fact that the kid wasn't related to him by blood; most likely because of that, he wasn't as compelled to tolerate it all.

But the brunette forced his feet to move forward anyway, back into the forest. Back into the darkness. Back to the twerp.

Because it was his duty has governing nation.

He was supposed to be teaching civility, right? Yes, and to let the kid become 'wilderness survivor' once more was _definitely_ the way to go about that…sure. The empire sighed to himself as he weaved himself back the way he came; past this tree and that tree, stepping over that root, and turning right here, and going straight a ways before making a left.

But wait…was that…_crying_ he heard?

Alarmed, and picking up his pace just the slightest, Roman Empire made the final turn into the small clearing which he had left his small province in, and found the island on his side, back turned towards him, yet his entire body shaking. Trembling. As if he were a leaf fluttering in the autumn wind.

And in that moment, something overcame Rome. A calm, stirring realization. As well as a protective instinct.

Now…now, he understood.

Slowly walking forward, Roman Empire's eyes never left the poor child. But he had only taken a few steps before it happened.

He hadn't noticed yet the darkness lingering nearer to the child. He hadn't noticed the first rustle of Britannia's robe, the first small tug of blonde hair. But he _did_ notice when suddenly, a piece of shadow, almost like a finger, stretched over the child's pale cheek. When suddenly there was a pull on his shoulder, and then the boy was rolled onto his back, his arm gripped by darkness, beginning to be dragged away—and he _screamed._

Roman Empire was there in the next second.

The darkness, surprisingly, recoiled; it gave up, relenting its treasure once Britannia was in his governing nation's arms again. The empire wasted no time in turning heel and fleeing, in putting as much distance between them and their unseen enemy as quickly as possible. He knew of no way to ward off the being except by escape.

But he couldn't help his unease.

So…_lemures…_ghosts of the dead…they really _did_ exist…

Britannia's arms, wrapped tightly around his savior's neck, were trembling, little fingers clenching the collar of Rome's robe, head buried in his shoulder. Even once they were out of the forest and into the clear expanse outside of Londinium, the boy still didn't let go. Not that Roman Empire blamed him.

He took one glance back behind him at the dark forest. A wind breezed by outside it, and the tree limbs swayed slightly in it—and he could almost swear it was whispering to him.

That was when he decided it was probably best to leave. Now.

Turning around, he began the trek back to the governor's palace, this time, however, at a much slower pace than when he had first left it. He was still outside the city when he broke the silence idly, simply trying to get his young province talking (the child, upon finally stopping his tears, remained oddly quiet, only sniffling occasionally), and to lighten up the mood. "_I do not think I have ever truly seen a_ lemure_ before this night,"_ he admitted with a small chuckle.

There was not a response for a long time. Feeling odd, Rome cleared his throat, about to add something else—but that was when, finally, the little island muttered quietly by his ear, "_I saw her."_

The empire, despite feeling elated at hearing _something_ from the boy, furrowed his eyebrows at what was actually said. W-wait a minute… _"Saw 'her'? What do you mean?"_

"_Her. The woman who tried to steal me." _Woman? When had there been a woman? _"I think she thought…" _A heavy, shaky breath. "…_I think she thought I was someone else…"_

Roman Empire stopped walking, turning back around to face the forest they had just left. Then he looked at his charge still in his arms, perched on his waist, almost clinging to him. "_You mean…you _saw_ the _lemure_?"_

A tentative nod.

Rome wasn't quite sure how to respond. He nodded briefly back in response and began walking again, but besides that—what could he do? He had never heard before of someone who could actually _see_ the dead. That was just…uncanny. Weird. Awful.

A sudden small fist that gave a single, weak thump against his arm brought his attention back to the boy, however. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and laugh a little at the pathetic action. "_What was that for?"_

"_Leaving me behind," _was the muffled response. Britannia's head was still buried in his shoulder, after all.

Rome tilted his head back and laughed. He was lucky they were just outside of the town, else it might have woken up its occupants, and _then_ he would have on his hands yet another situation he didn't entirely want to deal with. _"Ah yes…" _he muttered finally when his expression of joviality died down. "_...I was just going to apologize for that."_

"_Good. Let us hear it, then."_ A rather tough statement for someone still sniffling.

With a small grin, Roman Empire drew to a stop. Prying the boy off him (no matter how hesitant the child seemed), he squatted down and placed Britannia once more on his own bare feet. He made sure to look straight into those moist green eyes, deep wells full of fear that were illuminated by moonlight, even as he muttered it. "_I am sorry, little Britannia. I should not have gotten angry and abandoned you in the woods like that."_

The boy's green eyes searched his own blue ones, making sure the statement was sincere. And then after a long moment, he finally replied, "_It's...all right." _He responded quietly. "_There _is _something I do not understand, though…"_

"_Hmm?" _Rome raised a thin eyebrow. _"And what might that be?"_

"_I…" _Britannia frowned to himself, and appeared to debate whether or not to go through with what he wanted to say, before deciding to plow on through with it. "_…I used to be not so afraid…" _He nearly whispered it, continuing with the same timid, almost ashamed volume. "…_but when I was in there…"_

He had been terrified. He had felt vulnerable. He had felt powerless, and unable to fend for himself.

Feelings he had never felt before.

But feelings Roman Empire was somehow able to understand, despite the boy voicing none of them. The strong brunette nodded carefully, the corner of his lips twitching upward for a reason unknown to the Briton.

Then the blonde felt a hand placed upon his head; not menacingly, not threateningly. But affectionately. Comfortingly. "_There is an easy answer to that, Britannia." _Rome's face was remarkably gentle as he spoke to him; the child found himself caught off guard at it all. He could barely respond as the older one continued. "_You are going to have to get used to those feelings, because you are _mine_ now."_

Britannia instinctively scrunched up his nose in distaste. "_Wait...y-yours_?" he repeated.

There was an affirming nod, accompanied by dancing blue eyes. _"Mine. My province. You are depending on me, on my rule, on my trade, and my protection. Your people are leaning on me, becoming part of my people. Just as you are becoming part of me." _He paused a moment to let the little one wrap his head around that, before expounding on it. "_So when I left you, you felt unguarded. Unsafe. Your governing nation, your protection, turned his back on you. And…I am sorry for that. I should not have done that."_

Britannia frowned at him. "_So then...it…will not happen again, then, right?"_

Rome chuckled. "_No. It will not." _He picked the child up once more, perching the boy on his hip as they finally entered the city and began to make their way back to the governor's palace for the night. The boy was surprisingly docile as he did this. Yet somehow, having less opposition to every single little thing he did was a refreshing change. _"Because from now on, I will make sure to try and treat you better, as I should to a province of mine." _He craned his neck to look at his charge even as they neared the entrance of the large estate. _"How does that sound?"_

"_I suppose I can live with that," _was the mumbled response. But nonetheless it served to make Rome smile.

It was no surprise to either of the two, when they returned, to find Agricola up and worried about them, waiting for the two at the front doorway, hastily dressed. Scolding them heavily, even as he gingerly took little Britannia from Roman Empire's arms, noticing the drying tear streaks on the boy's cheeks, and demanding to know what had happened.

"_Never mind, I will find out later," _he immediately added, not even waiting for a response from the two nations. _"But for now, get to bed, Rome. I will notify the emperor of this—" _–really, he wouldn't; this was such a petty matter that it probably would get overlooked among the other things the man had to take care of, but nonetheless, Rome understood the governor's order anyway— "—_and meanwhile, I will take Britannia to his room. I hope you both sleep well this night. There could be consequences in the morning."_

There probably wouldn't. Especially once Agricola saw how things were resolved.

But the stranger thing was the fact that it didn't bother Rome in the slightest that his ears were burning, even as he walked away that night.

* * *

><p><strong>Crystal's Notes: <strong>Ah! There is a little bit I have to explain. xD; About Fishbourne. I didn't know it was in Sussex and not London/Londinium! Wah! So. Let's say this happened _before_ Fishbourne was finished. 8D And let's ex-out the part where Agricola and little England will move into Fishbourne somewhere in the future, eh? Let's just keep them in good ol' Londinium in the governor's palace that was built there…yeah. X3;;;

Now for a little explanation on Roman superstitions (I had a bit of fun researching this one). xD Although it was hard to chose from a werewolf (_verspille_) or ghost (_lemure)_. I decided to go with ghost because then, as you saw, I could foreshadow England's sight. 8D Huzzah.

And I've decided I rather suck with endings. xD;

Next ficlet is already being written and is tied to the next chapter of _My Country Still._ If you like these stories, maybe you'll like that one, too? Shameless plugging is shameless. 8D (brikked) K, not really…

DO have a wonderful day, you lovely people who are reading this! It really, _really_ means a lot to me, the few reviews, favorites, and alerts this story has gotten! Thanks SO SO much! (hands you all ghost-shaped cookies 8D)

Love you. All. Love love. (heart heart)


	4. Anniversary of Parting

**Crystal's Notes:** I'm gonna do the same thing I'm doing for _My Country Still._ x3 Review replies here! History notes (if any) at the bottom! Huzzah!

Not much to say for this ficlet...other than it's heavily tied to MCS. xD; So those of you who don't understand my whole reference to Heanua have probably not read that story. Har har...me and my...writing? Idk. D8 What am I trying to say?

Not quite sure. Kind of brain-dead.

And lol! Only one person reviewed last chapter. x3 So, because you did so, _yes_, ThE-faInTinG-faNGirl, you do get another cookie. x3 Cookies made especially for you! (hands over a dozen flower-shaped ones to fit this ficlet's theme).

Do enjoy, although this one is considerably shorter than it's predecessors! xD;

* * *

><p>It had been roughly fifteen years to the date. And although Britannia himself looked not a day older than five, his physical appearance did in no way hinder his memory; even now, as he hesitantly woke up to greet the sun already beaming brightly down on his face from the large, gaping open window, he could still remember her. The bright, vibrant, wild red-brown hair and the gleaming, strong, confident eyes...<p>

Britannia curled himself inward a little tighter, tugging the light sheets over his body closer as if to hide himself in his weakest moment from the world. _Boudicca..._ he couldn't help but think forlornly. _Nothing's been the same since you've been gone...I wish you were still here. I wish we had _won_..._

How many times had that thought crossed his mind? Too many to count. But that only made the dull ache pound harder in his chest.

He laid there for several minutes before an annoyed knocking came insistently from the wall beside his open, gaping doorway. For a long time, he refused to acknowledge it, until finally he couldn't even think without the loud noises echoing in his skull, and shouted, "_What do you want?"_

"_It is time to eat. Agricola wants all three of us to greet the day together. I think he has another 'idea.'"_

Britannia grumbled, just as 'eager' to embark on this 'idea' as the speaker, Roman Empire, apparently was. Eventually, he sighed, letting the air all out of his lungs in one heavy movement. _"Fine. I will be there in a few moments."_

_"Good."_

Then the man was gone, and the young boy was left to himself once again. The silence had never, until then, been so inviting, and never before had he longed so much to just stay in his room all day rather than go outside.

But Boudicca, good ol' lively, strong-willed Queen Boudicca, would not have wanted that, would she?

The boy hesitantly pushed himself out of bed to prepare for the day.

_Jentaculum_, or, the first meal of the day, was usually held in a tense silence in the governor's household. No one spoke unless absolutely necessary-except, of course, for their dear governor Agricola, who was always trying to find a way to break the heavy sheet of ice laden over any attempt at conversation. But that was on a normal day.

Today, on the other hand, was anything _but_ a normal day, and instead of the usual awkward silence, the group found themselves at a table filled with an excited shout from the smallest one present.

"_You mean we are going to visit her?"_

Forget the food in front of him-forget the fact that he was sitting with his two...well, somewhat-enemies, now-forget the fact that he was even a province! This was the first time ever since the incident fifteen years ago that they were able to acknowledge that Queen Boudicca had existed (not including when they had to bury her), let alone on the anniversary of her and her daughters' death, be able to visit their gravesite!

He could hardly believe his ears when Agricola had first told him of his plans for the day; the only thing that made this situation even more satisfactory was the look on Roman Empire's face after he heard his governor speak. It was in utter astonishment, and then morphed into the look of the betrayed. Which, of course, made Britannia all the more happier.

Instantly, the boy pushed himself away from the table, rushing off to grab his sandals from the side wall and slide them on as quick as he could. _"What are we waiting for?"_ he cried even as he busied about, grabbing other necessary things-a sash and Agricola's sandals-almost a whirlwind of energy. "_Let us get going!"_

Agricola merely laughed, reaching down as Britannia zoomed by him. With surprising and perfect timing, he snatched the boy up by the back of his robe right when the child was running by him. It was like grabbing the wind out of thin air; he couldn't help but chuckle even more to himself at the boy's astonished, and then betrayed expression as he threw a wearied green-eyed glare at him. _"Now, now,"_ the governor chided to his charge at seeing such hostility. "_You have not yet finished your_ jentaculum._ We cannot leave until then."_

_"Yes we can."_

It was like raising another kid of his own. Agricola suppressed the urge to roll his eyes; this _was_ his governed province after all. "_No, we cannot. We _will_ not. Now go eat."_

Britannia huffed and made a particularly sour sound in the back of his throat, whining, even as he was set back down on the dusty ground to head back to his seat at the table and finish his meal. Roman Empire, of course, watching the entire exchange, couldn't keep silent anymore. With a flush of anger, he turned on Agricola, muttering, "_What is this meaning of this? I hope you do not intend to have me come along with you - that is one thing I will _not_ do. While that woman may mean a lot to Britannia, she certainly is not fondly remembered by me."_

_"Even if you do not like her, Rome," _Agricola's voice was surprisingly patient, his hands folded, elbows propped up on the table, and chin resting on his fingers. His eyes didn't even look once to his nation as he continued, "_It cannot hurt to pay your respects to the dead. She once lived. She has a legacy. You do not need to do much else than acknowledge that."_

His dark eyes finally shifted over to Roman Empire meeting with the still discontent blue of his nation, before returning to Britannia, who had been watching their exchange warily as he ate. "_Is that not right,_ meus tener unus_?"_

_Britannia scrunched up his nose at the nickname. "Yes, I suppose..." he mumbled in hesitant agreement. "...but please refrain from calling me that anymore. I am far older than you, anyways, Agricola."_

The governor chuckled, but said nothing. Little Britannia couldn't be sure as he watched the grown man whether or not that meant he would drop the newfound nickname, or keep using it stubbornly with that Roman nature of his. However, he figured the latter option was probably more plausible, knowing him.

* * *

><p>It was a sunny day. Practically perfect in every way, except for the occasional strong wind. Such weather was usually unusual in Britannia, where rain and gloom accompanied most afternoons. But the little island (or, part of it, anyway) couldn't help but appreciate this even more. It was the setting of the perfect scene: Boudicca's grave and small tombstone perched on the swaying green grass. Britannia himself standing a few feet away from it, a handful of small flowers Agricola had helped him pick along the way tucked in his hand.<p>

But this tradition of the Romans was foreign to him, as was everything else. He couldn't help but glance back nervously to the two behind him, feeling rather...stupid to be standing there in front of a grave with flowers.

It was Agricola who finally grinned supportively and waved a hand in gesture for the little one to approach the tombstone. If anything, he seemed amused at the entire situation. "_Do not be afraid. Her hand will not suddenly shoot out of the ground to grab your ankle. She cannot do that anyway. They are _flowers_, Britannia. If anything, wherever she is, she will appreciate them."_

The sandy-haired blonde frowned at him. _But she had been my _queen, he wanted to say. _You might not have known her, but I doubt she would have liked something as dainty and...childish as flowers..._

But what else did he have to give her? He had been told Romans laid flowers on their loved ones' graves. It was a tradition. And honestly, if Britannia were asked about it, he would respond that he couldn't think of anything better to give a departed person other than flowers anyway. They just seemed...nice. And fitting. And...sweet.

Looking at the small cluster of flowers in his hands, Britannia finally made the few steps forward that it took to reach the small stone in the clearing, his head bowed humbly. Perhaps awkwardly, for he still wasn't quite sure how to do this.

He made sure to tell her that even as he stood there, mumbling in shame, "_Sorry, Boudicca...this is...new to me. So I am not quite sure what I am supposed to say, or what I am supposed to do..."_

He took a breath, and started again, his words coming out in a nervous fumble, stumbling over each other and fighting to make it out first. He didn't like it; it made him feel like an idiot. But too late for that, really, because he already felt like it, speaking to someone who was dead...but maybe, somehow, wonderfully, she could still hear him? "_I know you probably will not like this. You hated the Romans. And yet here I am, following their traditions and customs in respecting you...I...I am sorry."_

The boy bit his lip, pausing. "_But I...I guess I want you to know that...they are not..._completely _bad. Rome..."_ Britannia cast a quick glance behind him at the empire himself, who had his arms crossed and an impatient look on his face, before looking back to the grave. "_...Rome can be nice. On occasions. And so can Agricola. It makes me think..." _A breath. "_...I think if Agricola were our governor while you were around, there would not have been need of a rebellion. And then you..."_ A sudden choke. Britannia was surprised. Where did this sudden lump in his throat come from? "_...and then you, and Lannosea, and...and Heanua...might not have died..."_

He clenched the flowers tighter in his hands, burrowing his face in their stems as he tried to hide himself from the world. Why was this so hard? Why was the pain still _there_, after all this time? What was so appealing about this to Romans, anyway? Getting teary-eyed...and...and choked-up at a grave...psh...

But it made the memories nice.

Finally lifting his face from the flowers, Britannia squatted town and laid them on top of the slab of stone the Roman had been so gracious as to plant for her, almost in a hurry. Almost as if he were eager to be rid of them, and done with this whole stupid...thing. But he paused a moment as his fingers brushed against the three names carved roughly into stone.

_Boudicca. Lannosea. Heanua._

Nothing else. No nice little borders or dates when they had left. Just the crude etchings done by a soldier who really, more than anything else, wanted to be completely done with 'her highness' after all the trouble she had caused.

_"...Heanua..."_ Britannia called quietly, almost whispering. These words were meant for her alone. "_I want you to know that I am all right, now. The Romans...are taking care of me. More nicely than I think both of us anticipated that they would. But..."_

Britannia pulled the cloak he had around himself tighter as another strong wind blew by. The flowers, amazingly enough, weren't blown away. They rested as if stationary on the tombstone, held down by some invisible force even as the gale swept by. It made their nation smile, despite the water that was barely kept at bay in his eyes.

He had to swallow before he started up again. "_But I still miss you. I miss you all. And I will not forget you. I will not _allow_ my people to forget you, and what you stood for, because it is too valuable a cause to forget."_

Finally caving in just slightly, Britannia covered his face with his hands. He would not cry; he was a nation. Although he looked like a five-year-old, he was...he was better than this. He was more mature...and...and whatever-not...

What a lie.

_I miss you,_ he wanted to say. _Oh, how I miss you. How I wish you were still here to laugh at me and to clap my shoulder; how I wish you were still here to kiss my scraped knees and bee stings away; how I wish you were still here to give me a future. I can't...I can't stand on my own...not without you guys...not yet, I can't..._

A sudden hand on his shoulder made Britannia jump up slightly in surprise, hands falling away from his face as he jerked his head to the side to see who it was.

Oh...it was just Agricola...

Relaxing, the boy sniffled and quickly tried to wipe his face, although there were no tear streaks because he had refused any from falling. He mumbled almost incoherently as he kept his face away from his governor, "_What, am I taking too long?"_

A gentle chuckle, soothing and relieving. "_No. But I thought you might want something."_

Britannia frowned, still turned away. "_Not a hug, if that is what you are hinting at..."_

"_No,"_ Agricola agreed. Then Britannia felt his hand being pulled away, and something small placed in the palm of his hand. It was large and roundish of shape; almost like a tear-drop. _Fitting somehow_, the boy couldn't help but think bitterly, rolling the object around in his hand before finally looking at it. Agricola continued speaking. "_Us Romans consider cypress and yews as trees of mourning. I thought perhaps you might want to plant one near her grave for her. Perhaps it will make her final resting place seem more...home-like."_

Britannia scoffed at the idea, but looked at the seed seriously enough anyway as he rolled it around in his hand. It was a moment before he responded. "_I suppose..."_

But at the large amount of hesitancy the boy was showing, Agricola reached out and took the child's hand in his own much larger one, folding his fingers one by one over the cypress seed. "_Come,"_ he murmured gently, as if leading a wounded dog from the murky shadow. "_Both Rome and I shall help you."_

Conflicted, Britannia instantly threw a look over his shoulder, only to see the empire himself not there at all. He frowned. Turning back to the governor and about to comment on the man's disappearance, however, it was there he finally saw the much-larger brown-haired man, standing behind Agricola with an unreadable expression on his face. What was that...discontent? Or a reluctant acceptance?

Either way, the next thing little Britannia knew he, Agricola, and Roman Empire had dug a hole in the ground next to the tombstone. The boy tried to hide how badly his arm was shaking as he held the seed up, ready to drop it into its new home. But then he paused, suddenly inspired.

Lifting the seed to his mouth, Britannia gently gave it not one kiss - but three gentle little kisses.

Then, he let the seed go.

Agricola and Rome didn't say a word afterward; instead, they simply covered the seed up together, working silently. Then, having gone to get a bucket of water earlier while Britannia had been paying his respects, Roman Empire gave the soil its first dose of life, gently pouring the water onto the newly planted tree.

Once done, the three of them stood back, eyes on their work, although nothing was visible to show for it just yet.

And silence reigned.

Agricola said something about going to get the servants started on their second meal of the day, but Rome and Britannia hardly paid attention to him, still staring at the ground idly until he had left. It wasn't until he had been gone for several minutes that Britannia finally spoke up quietly, his voice almost hoarse (although he cleared it quickly), asking, "_How long do you think it will take to grow...?"_

Roman Empire shrugged. "_I have no idea. I am not known for my agricultural skills."_ There was a lilt of humor in that voice, and the boy couldn't help but smirk at it just slightly.

_"I should say not,"_ was the amused response that came from Britannia.

Then a hand was placed upon the messy bed of sandy-blonde hair. A gentle, and not-too-affectionate, but endearing gesture all the same. It made the awkward silence shatter into a million pieces. "_But neither are you known for that, _meus tener unus."

A small silence - one in which so many memories filtered through. Of endless battles between the two who stood side-by-side somewhat amiably now. Of endless bloodshed, of endless suffering, because both were too stubborn to give in. Too stubborn to simply submit. And yet...somehow , miraculously, that winding, jagged, dangerous and uncertain road lead them to the beginning of the friendship that they had now.

Then Britannia huffed. "_All right, flattering comment aside, I would appreciate it if you did not call me that..."_

The only reply he received was a loud laugh and a hearty clap on the shoulder, creating a rough sense of déjà-vu to wash over him like the cold bucket of water that had been poured over their new cypress seed. He had almost forgotten where he was - what year it was - who he was with, until he was reminded of it all by the voice of his laughing companion, who most certainly was _not_ a fiery red-brown haired woman, captain and beloved queen of the Iceni. Instead, it was his new king. The great and mighty Roman Empire.

But the two were more alike than Britannia had previously thought.

* * *

><p><strong>History Notes:<strong> Yay funeral traditions! x3 Not quite...kind of depressing. But I didn't realize until I did my research how much the Roman traditions of mourning the dead affected the "Western" style of mourning. Romans started the whole "flower-laying-on-grave" and all. D8 (had no idea)

Although, I will admit - no one knows where Boudicca is buried. xD Although the details vary, no one's ever been able to find her exact resting place. So this is kinda...made up. And I'm just going to bed that her two daughters were buried with her because hey, they died together? Why not? And for those of you who haven't read MCS, the names of Boudicca's two daughters - Lannosea and Heanua - are just rumors . 83; No one's sure what their names are. But for fictional story's sake, I threw them in there anyway. xD Woo!

Aaaaand...I think that's it? Thanks to you people who are reading this! 83 I really do luff yew! Truly and honestly!

Review? 8D Because you make me a very happy author when you do~ x3 Or if you just fave or add to alerts, that's nice, too~


	5. Sin

**Crystal's Notes: **And so we come to a rather depressing, and more gory story of our collection. x3; To those who don't like...particularly unnerving details (although I don't think I was too gory or graphic in this) perhaps you would want to skip?

I don't know. xD I'm kind of brain-dead.

Please enjoy, my lovely readers! And ESPECIALLY my three darling, darling, darling reviewers - TheQueenofYaoi (your rant wasn't annoying, dear xD in fact, it made my day -heart heart- ), The Artist Formerly Known As, and, of course, ThE-faInTinG-faNGirl.

To you three...I give you a plateful of your favorite pizza. :D Enjoy!

* * *

><p>At first, it was only something that had barely caught Roman Empire's attention. Britannia was missing. Well, it wasn't like that wasn't normal. From time to time, the twerp went out to do whatever…it was the twerp did. Probably for religious purposes (he still refused not to believe in his Celtic and Druidic gods, no matter what gods Rome introduced to him, which was all fine by Roman Empire—again, he preferred not to mess with supernatural convictions), or maybe just to play with friends. He still was quite small, after all.<p>

Agricola had, of course, taken the news with less grace. He huffed and ordered a few soldiers to go find out where the boy was. Not necessarily to drag him back to the governor's palace, but to just locate him, so that his mind could be at ease, knowing his charge wasn't in danger. Rome, also given this command, merely shrugged in response. Sure, he'd find the boy. After all, he had nothing better to do yet.

But asking around for the little blonde's whereabouts proved surprisingly…unsettling.

"_I think I saw a little boy of that description leave with some Druids…_"

Oh. So it _was_ for religious purposes. Okay, that wasn't alarming.

"…_oh yes! They looked like they were packed for quite a journey, though…I think they headed east."_

East—east meant towards the coastline. Not as many forests, more open, green expanses. Oh, and cliffs. Cliffs and rocks and water…

…but why were they headed there?

"_Have you not heard?"_

Um, no. He hasn't, whatever it is that he was supposed to have heard.

"_Julius Caesar wrote about it. There are rumors that it's true."_

Well, whatever his rulers wrote about was their own business. None of Rome's.

"_The Druids perform nasty rituals up in the mountains and caves. It is said that such rituals contain acts like human sacrifices to their gods…and sometimes cannibalism."_

Rome's heart plummeted at that statement alone.

He swallowed, leaning forward just slightly. "_Did I…did I hear you right? They…they commit _human sacrifices_?"_

The woman he was talking to nodded fearfully. _"I heard they used to do it all the time while us Romans were still invading. It was in prayer to the gods that they would win and we would be cast out of their land. It appears they still do these traditions…perhaps to keep the gods appeased so that one day we might yet leave…"_

Oh…oh _goodness_…

Praying to their gods, yes. Worshipping in their own fashion, yes. Offering animals, plants, and food, yes. Yes, yes, and yes. All these things were acceptable. All these things, permissible. But this - _this monstrosity and savagery __– this __murder __– could_ not be allowed.

Rushing back to Agricola's house, he grabbed his swords and his armor, as well as a few men. He did not answer his governor's calls, the man's questions, or even look at the ex-warrior as he bustled about, gathering all he would need to successfully break apart a ritual. A ritual, at least, that would not _want_ to be stopped, but would have to be anyway, because once again, _he could not allow this to go on._

Roman Empire would _not _stand for this.

They were off in less than a minute, mounted upon sturdy steeds that they prayed the Druids did not have, else they would never catch up with them in time.

Rome didn't know how long these rituals took. Heck, he barely knew anything about them. He always preferred to be left in the dark about such matters, lest he upset a god he was unaware existed, or tread upon unforgiving ground.

But this time...oh, curse it all. Curse it all! He should have asked. He should have _found out. _He should have wondered.

It took nearly an hour to reach the first set of caves. But even then, after hopping off his horse, Roman Empire knew with the certainty once his feet connected with the ground, that this was where the Druids were. He could recognize that familiar sensation that buzzed in the center of his being whenever someone like him was around, and even now that he was especially in tune with that one particular buzz - the one he had registered by now to be that annoying little province of his. A humming feeling that almost seemed timed with his heart, proving that they truly were connecte. Province and governing nation.

Hopefully Britannia felt it, too.

Without a word to his men, although they understood to follow him, Rome set off, pursuing the sensation. Carefully, he trekked up the rocks, but he made sure not to take his time. Who knew what lives were at stake…how many had been taken, if any…

But what he encountered once he finally entered the mouth of the cave, he was not prepared for at all.

There, already dead, hung a body tied with a coarse, thick rope from the neck to a rut in the rock ceiling, looking unnaturally pale. There was blood on the floor already, as well – did they already sacrifice someone else, too? Rome couldn't help but wonder – and standing in it, the dark liquid soiling his sandals, his dark cloak hanging just above it, was Britannia. Gleaming knife in his hand, raised and poised to strike at the dangling body's neck.

Roman Empire shouted instinctively, his voice carrying and roaring into the cave with such ferocity and desperation that it surprised even himself.

"_Britannia!" _

The boy spun around, green eyes wide, shocked, startled, fearful – Rome could see patches of blood on his face, near his eye, on his cheek, dripping from his chin, and the sight made him imagine the most horrible of things that this child must have done – as the knife, suddenly free from his tight grip, clattered to the ground.

Then the fragile silence was shattered.

All Hell seemed to break loose in that one moment – in the time it took the Druids to figure out that they had been found, and the Romans to understand that it was time to act. Rome himself, on the other hand, had more important things to worry about.

Leaping forward, he kicked away the knife before the boy could grab it again in self-defense, and wrapped his large arms around the much smaller nation, who was already screaming and kicking and struggling and writhing – and…and wow…he really _was_ terrified of what Rome was going to do to him now, wasn't he?

Although it was difficult, the empire managed to carry (or more like _lug_) the child away from all the chaos and out of the cave, dragging him over to another cave nearby it, one where the two nations could have some privacy while their people ran about.

The fighting went on for a long, long time. But Roman Empire, for once, decided that he could be patient. He did not relent his hold on the boy, no matter how the child much wanted to make things difficult. He waited, and waited, and waited until their shadows began to grow on the wall, stretching and expanding like a sponge full of water, when finally Britannia's movements slowed and he began to show signs of tiring himself out. But even then, Rome still waited. It wasn't until there was complete silence in the cave (save for Britannia's labored, jagged panting) that he finally spoke.

And when he did, it was lowly. "_Now…_" he muttered. "_…will you sit quietly and not try and run away?"_

There was an even longer pause before the child responded. "_…what are you going to do to me?"_

"_Will you not run away?"_

He could feel the boy tense in fear, in uncertainty, at the lack of an answer to his question. But he said anyway, quietly, submissively, swallowing, "_I…will not run. I will stay."_

Roman Empire nodded, and then very carefully – very guardedly – he set the child down on his feet. He waited a moment longer before finally letting him go from the tight hold in which he had had him in, and watched with satisfaction when he saw that the boy was holding true to his word.

As Rome straightened, he then commanded, "_Go sit down on that rock to the side, and do not move from there until I return."_

"_W-where are you going…?"_

The child was stuttering. The brave, undaunted, _annoying_, rebellious little Britannia was…was… _He must _really _be terrified… _But Rome didn't let the thought daunt him. This _was_ a serious matter, after all. It needed to be seriously reprimanded. "_I do not think that at the moment, I am entitled to give you any answers, no matter the question. Do as told, Britannia."_

The blonde stiffened, and for a moment, the older one's hand flew to the sword at his side that he had not yet drawn, suddenly fearing a feisty rebellion. But he relaxed as the child finally marched to the rock that he had indicated, sitting down on it and keeping his green eyes fixed on the dark, unlit stone floor. His entire form was tense, but Roman Empire finally turned around at seeing he was going to be submissive, muttering over his shoulder. "_I will be gone only a moment."_

He stayed true to his word.

After gathering wood, a bucket of water from the nearby river, a towel, and informing his men to go ahead and return to Londinium without him – but inform Agricola that Rome had Britannia and all was safe – Roman Empire finally returned to the cave, dropping his supplies on the floor as he knelt and began to build a fire.

He could feel the boy's strong green eyes on him, watching him warily as he struggled to light the wood (with far more difficulty than he had thought there would be; he hadn't counted on it raining _again_ last night, although now that he thought about it, he should have expected it…it rained a lot in this country).

But then, suddenly, a flame finally burst to life.

Startled, Rome leaned back in surprise – he could swear that that wasn't his doing – before whipping his head around to view his charge, who had a small hand outstretched, fingers clenched together as if he had just snapped them.

Meekly, slowly, Britannia, at seeing the older one's expression, bowed his blood-splattered head again, drawing his hand back underneath his cloak.

Rome could barely form the words. "_Did you…?"_

After a long, tense silence, the child nodded.

The brunette stared, unsure what to say or do. He swallowed. "_You can cast magic…?" _he whispered, almost as if it were taboo.

Another pause. Then, another nod.

Roman Empire, more than ever, had the inkling feeling that this child truly was the spawn of the devil. But such thoughts, he knew, were absurd and more than anything, unfair. He shook his head, clearing those nasty, untrue ponderings away and out of existence before he muttered, "_How long have you been able to – ?"_

" – _My entire life." _Britannia took a deep breath, shoulders rising and slowly descending with the movement. "_That is why I was able to see the woman _lemure _in the forest. But the Druids do not know what I am. So because of my abilities, they think I am a gift from the gods."_

"_The same gods you sacrifice to?"_

Britannia winced, not answering at first. But after thinking for a long moment, he directed his gaze towards his loosely folded hands lying in his lap as he muttered, _"…the same gods to which they force me to do the sacrifices to…"_

Rome blinked, suddenly tensing in anger. _"So _you_ do the sacrificing?"_

"_They…" _Britannia closed his eyes tightly together, hands grasping themselves tightly as if clinging to a light he couldn't find in his inner darkness. "_…they think that since I am from the gods, I can communicate with them better. I am the bridge through which they can plead their cases. So I…"_ The child swallowed. "_…I commit the sacrifices…"_

The older one jumped to his feet in outrage at that statement. Immediately, he raised his hand, about to smack the child – about to knock his senses back into working order – about to punish him for such awful, horrid actions that no one his age should _ever_ do –

– but he couldn't bring himself to doing such an action. The child _didn't know._

Turning around, trying to steam out his anger through his nose, Rome muttered in barely-restrained emotions. "_Did you agree with their logic?"_

"_Y-yes…" _Now the child was pleading his own case to his own kind. Not a god. His voice began to take on desperation as he defended himself. "_…at first, I did not know any better. At first, I…I thought they were right. I did not know who or what I was until you arrived. I…I did not know that I was a nation. I thought I _was _from the gods. I thought they were right. I agreed with them, and allowed people to die, and once they had been strangled, I – "_

" – _and even when you know better now, you _still_ commit such crimes? !" _Rome was outraged. He turned again on the smaller one, who was cringing, curling himself into a ball, looking away, averting his eyes – trying to place his gaze anywhere but on the taller one whose blue eyes burned like a raging hurricane. _"I heard your people committed cannibalism, too – did you partake in that as well? !"_

No answer.

The silence was deafening.

Rome heaved each breath in and out of his lungs, willing himself not to hurt the kid. It was a hard task. _"I need an answer, Britannia. You are treading on very, very fragile ground…"_

Britannia inhaled quietly, holding it, before releasing it. "_Even after I knew I was a nation, I still believed – _believe – _in the gods. I thought the sacrifices were necessary to get…to get rid of you. So I was happy…to do them…"_

But the way his voice trailed off said there was a lot left still to say. _That lately, I began to have my doubts. That lately, I began to think that there was a reason you were staying. That there was a reason the gods were ignoring us. That maybe what we were doing was having the opposite effect of what we wanted. And that maybe, having you around…was not such a bad thing…_

Rome nearly kicked over the bucket of water he had obtained in order to ventilate at least a little the fury he was feeling inside himself. But he didn't. Taking one look at the bucket reminded him of why he had gotten it in the first place, and although he didn't want to use it now…it was the right thing to do.

But every movement he made as he picked it up, carrying it over to Britannia and using his towel to dampen its end in the water, was jerky. Every movement forced and visibly uncomfortable. Stressed.

However, when the child winced once within close range of the wet cloth, Rome couldn't help but have to freeze. He…forgot, didn't he? Britannia was still…still only a child. Still a province. Still afraid. Forcing himself to slow down and relax (his anger was not making this any easier) and taking in a deep inhale, the man then sighed heavily, dispelling his tightly-held emotions as best he could. "_Despite how much I dislike what you have done, I will not hurt you," _he assured, making eye contact with the young boy in order to prove his words. _"I will not hurt you. Only reprimand you. But I am still gravely disappointed in you, Britannia."_

Britannia, still apprehensive, did not look away from the large blue eyes that gazed at him. And although he did not answer immediately, he also didn't move in defense when the rag was moved forward again and began wiping off the blood on his face.

It wasn't until after half of it was gone that he finally spoke. Timidly, with trepidation. In confidence. Barely audible, yet somehow, Roman Empire was able to hear. "_Just…so you know…I never…ate a human." _A small pause for a quiet inhale. "_Despite how many corpses I cut open…I never…ate a piece of their skin or muscle." _Rome paused in his ministrations, leaning backward just slightly to properly look at the young boy as he closed his eyes tightly. "_I could never…bring myself to eat one of my own people…"_

His voice cracked, and that was enough for the brunette.

Reaching forward, he wrapped the small boy in his arms, pulling the tiny one to his chest. Tightly. Comfortingly. Perhaps too closely, because there were gruff emotions still running through his veins. But Britannia didn't mind. Somehow, he still knew it was okay. Everything was okay. With that simple action.

"_Of that much, I am proud." _Rome uttered heavily in the blonde's ear. _"But please, Britannia…do not commit such murders in the name of your gods again._ Ever."

He could feel the child's head bob slightly against his chest with a small, timid nod. "_I swear I will not. I am…" _Th_e _voice, shaking with emotion, simmered down to a small, dismal whisper. "_I am so sorry, Roman Empire…"_

Rome, inhaling softly, replied gently, "_It is not I who you have to apologize to,_ meus tener unus_."_

Britannia tensed in his arms. There was a long, hesitant moment of silence – one in which years alone seemed to span the distance – before the boy finally nodded again and began to pull away. _"I know…_" he murmured as he was finally loosened from the older one's hold and was able to rub his face with his small hands, a tiny act of comfort for himself, as if he were trying to wipe away the regret and self-pity he were feeling in exchange for the wisdom and courage he should have. _"I know…"_

There was another long pause, before Rome reached forward again and continued to wipe off the boy's face. Britannia, in response, jerked away softly, looking at the older one with a weak glower. "_I can do that myself…"_ he muttered, reaching out a hand for the cloth.

But the brunette shook his head, ignoring the hand, and continuing to clean the smaller one's face. "_You probably could," _he admitted. "_But you would not know when you were done, or where to scrub. At this point in time, I am the only one able to properly clean you." _He gave Britannia a careful look in the eye. Blue verses green. "_That principle also goes for many other things of life, I hope you notice."_

The blonde nodded, averting his eyes. It made Rome finally say, "_Oh, and stop not looking at me."_

Surprised, Britannia did as told, snapping his head up to the older one as he continued, "_When you get in trouble, or are faced with your sins, you ought to man up and confront your wrongs head-on. Not in hiding, or in meekness, or in fear. Admit to them with your shoulders straight, and your eyes forward. But do not be proud of what you have done; do not boast. But have the humility to confess your wrongs with the utmost honesty and strength. You have not undignified yourself. But you _have _indebted yourself to someone until they have forgiven you." _Once more, Roman Empire made sure to make eye contact with the child. _"Do you understand?"_

Britannia, confused, but nonetheless tucking that lecture in the back of his head, nodded. "_But how do I know when the people I have killed have forgiven me…?"_

For some reason, that made the older one smile somewhat. _"You, the one who can see them in the first place, are asking _me, _the one without magic?"_

His chuckle made the sandy-blonde-haired one feel like an idiot. His face flushed and he huffed. "_W-well, it is not like I can summon them whenever I want to see them…as if I _want _to see dead people in the first place!"_

Roman Empire merely laughed, laying the cloth down to rest, his job complete. "_Nonetheless," _he replied even as he stood and stretched. _"I think that somehow, you will know when you are relieved of your guilty burden. Somehow."_

Britannia shrugged, but there was uncertain hope in his green eyes – an emotion that betrayed the façade he wanted to give off. Roman Empire, used to it, shook his head. "_Anyway, let us head home. Agricola is waiting, as is a nice bath and dinner – the latter two which I feel I need the most right now."_ To give emphasis on this point, the he patted his hollow stomach, stifling a yawn.

The child's eyes widened just slightly at the reminder of the home they had to return to. "_You will not tell Agricola of this…will you?"_

A careful, thoughtful pause. _"I may…"_A cringe, a look of desperation. But Rome continued gently, unhindered. "_…but only because I have to. _However_, I will tell him that you are already aware of the error of your ways, and that you will not do them again. Thus, he will have no need of approaching you on the matter. You have learned."_

Britannia, still with that look of fear in his eyes, nodded anyway, swallowing. He could only _imagine_ how Agricola would act…and…and for some reason, that upset him greatly. Almost as much as it upset him when he first heard Rome call out his name in the middle of the ritual…insinuating a sense of fear, surprise, helplessness, panic, guilt, and shame all at once. He did not want that feeling again, that feeling of knowing you betrayed someone's trust…

"_Come," _the older one said, holding out a hand. Warm, and inviting. Forgiving. "_Let us go home."_

Shakily, Britannia nodded, and took the hand.

* * *

><p>"<em>The child is sleeping. We should not disturb him!"<em>

"_We do not have to. Perhaps we could give him pleasant dreams…then he would know."_

"_The poor thing…bless his heart for the tenderness of his apology."_

"_He _was_ truly sorry, was he not?"_

"_It was a wonderful testimony. I could see the honesty of his words."_

"_I think I can forgive him."_

"_It gives me a sense of peace to do so – I can forgive him, too."_

"_Me, as well."_

"_And I, too."_

"_I think I speak for the rest of us when I say, little Britannia, that you have been pardoned. Sleep well tonight."_

"_Yes, and take care of our descendants."_

"_If you continue to grow in this humble nature that I have seen you display tonight, then I have great faith you will one day become a great nation."_

"_As do I."_

"_Sweet dreams, little one."_

"_Your mother would be proud."_

And when Britannia woke up the next morning, and found a sense of contentment flowing throughout his entire being, he knew he had been forgiven.

Somehow.

Just like Roman Empire had said he would be.

* * *

><p><strong>History Notes: <strong>Not much to say here. x3 Druids committed human sacrifices. What they would do was actually bash the head in, and then string the body up and after it was dead, would slice the throat open. Ew ew ew, really. But such details allowed me to come up with this. 8D So. Hoorah for the gory details of history. xD

But Romans, yes, would not tolerate the human sacrifices. xD They would allow the Britons to worship their own gods and all that, but the human sacrifices part? Was widely looked down upon and unaccepted. For good reason! xD

I hope you enjoyed my lousy writing. xD; Review, if you wish. It always serves to make my heart flutter when you do so. I speak the truth. x3


	6. Only For a Time

**Crystal's Notes: **Oh goodness! I can't believe we're nearing the end already! There's only one more chapter after this…I seriously can't believe that. D: My second multi-chaptered fic (even if this was more a collection of ficlets than anything) is almost done. Goodness! You guys bring out the best motivation in me! xD Even if it takes me forever to update…

So without much further-a-do, I deeply, DEEPLY thank my six reviewers from last chapter: Chandinee Richards (I'm sorry I made you cry! D: ), The Artist Formerly Known As (and sorry for giving you a stomachache xD;; hopefully this chapter will amend that?), mystmoon92 (no I have not read "Horrible Histories" D8 Sounds like something I would be interested in though thank you x3 I'll have to check it out), ThE-faIntinG-faNGirl (my dear, your reviews never cease to amuse me xD Thank you so much for all your dear, dear support), Nutty Nerd (thank you, too, for your "fancy compliment" xD It certainly meant a lot to me!) and Erratic Lilium (thank you very much for your kind words : ) ).

And to those who have wondered, like Nutty Nerd, as to what Rome and Agricola's nickname for Britannia means…I'll reveal it to you guys at the end. X3 Sorry for the suspense! But as fellow authors, surely you guys understand the fun behind that, right? …right?

Oh dear. xD

Enjoy!

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><p>Province and empire would never say it aloud, but the two had become rather close to one another. So much so, in fact, that it was hard to tear away the small island from his protector's side. Down the streets they would walk, conversing with one another like father and son. The blonde would ask questions, and the taller brunette would answer them, perhaps accompanied by a silly joke or gesture. People would often mistake them for being related – something neither of them obviously were, but they weren't bothered hearing about it.<p>

"_Rome, that couple is holding hands. Is that that 'public display of consent to marriage' thing you were talking about earlier?"_

"_Hm?" _Rome's eyes drifted to the said couple walking by – a very meek girl and boy, both looking to be around the age of fourteen – heads bowed as they murmured to one another quietly, laughing at little comments here and there as they did so. His blue eyes filled with merriment. "_Ah! Yes! So it is. Oh, would it not be fun to attend that wedding later…?"_

Britannia scrunched up his nose. "_Rome! But we are not invited…!"_

"_Hush, now, we are their nations. That automatically grants us invitations to any event being conducted," _the older country responded, dismissively and childishly waving his hand. His eyes never left the young couple walking by as he spoke; it was as if he were greedily imagining the great party that was to take place later because of their engagement.

Britannia rolled his green eyes with good-humored annoyance at the older soldier, before taking a second glance up at his governing empire. It made him curiously ask, "_You make it sound like a wedding is such a big event…"_

"_It is!" _Rome turned to his province with wide eyes, enthusiasm lining his entire being. "_It is grand! Huge! And…a lot of fun." _Blue eyes glittered with excitement as he looked off into the distance, probably remembering past weddings he had attended with great joy. But then he suddenly snapped out of his reverie, shaking his head as he brought himself back to the present. "_The best part is the dinner. It has cake."_

"_Of course…" _Britannia stifled a laugh. _"…only food would catch your attention."_

"_Not true!" _was the hurried reply, which did end up making the child laugh.

Looking back up to the older nation once he was done, humor still glittering his green eyes, the child asked the dreaded question. "_So…when do you think we can go to one, then?"_

The governing empire stopped walking, a sorrowful, awkward expression coming over his face as he tried to think up how best he can answer the little one's question. But after a long silence, the answer already obvious, he sighed and uttered it anyway. "_I do not…think we will be able to go to one together, Britannia."_

There was a long silence. The two stopped walking.

"…_you're going home."_

The statement was short, quiet. The taller nation looked down to his province and gave a half-smile, trying to be supportive. But it was hard. The green eyes searched his face, determining the answer he already knew; when he found it, the child looked away, a pang of hurt in his eyes.

Rome was first to speak, hurriedly. "_I am sorry, Britannia. But I cannot stay here forever with you…I do have an empire to take care of, and my own grandchildren to – "_

" – _no, no, it's fine." _The boy shook his head, sandy blonde hair dancing with the movement. But not once did he glance up to look into the face of his governing empire even as he spoke. "_I…I knew you yourself had to leave eventually. I don't mind." _He shrugged carelessly. "_It would be…selfish of me to want to keep you here, anyway. I'm not…I'm just one province. I – "_

Rome placed a hand on Britannia's head_, _stilling the child. "_Say no more, Britannia. I understand."_

The blonde immediately began to stutter, confused. "_Understand? Understand what? There is nothing to understand – I am happy you are leaving! This means I can finally act how I want to act and go into the forest all the time, and – "_

Roman Empire laughed. He tilted his head back and laughed a great hearty deal. _"Oh, _meus tener unus. _You may be stubborn, and thick-headed like no other, but honest to the gods, I hope you never change."_

_I hope you never change._

* * *

><p>Parting day was the worst. Partially because of the fact that not only as Roman Empire himself leaving…but so was Agricola, who had been summoned back to Rome.<p>

It was raining, as it usually did on the little island, so that was no surprise. But it seemed to reflect the gloomy mood of the land itself, forced to watch from the shore as both of his mentors climbed upon the ship that was to take them home.

Green eyes, shining with unshed tears, beheld the strong back of the Roman Empire as he stopped a moment, and then turned around once he had reached the deck. The other's brown eyes roamed the countryside a moment – as if taking in, one final time, the sights of the province he had come to grow so fond of – before they landed on the little nation, standing alone with the hood of his dark green cloak covering his bed of sandy blonde hair to protect it from the rain, for whom he had sacrificed so much for.

But it had all been worth it, Rome decided. Every precious second had been worth it, just to see the small one grow, both morally and civilly, into who he was now.

A very, very promising province.

With a grim smile, the empire raised his hand in farewell. He watched with saddening eyes as the little nation frowned a moment to himself, before reluctantly reaching his arm out and waving good-bye as well.

Agricola joined the brunette's side and raised his hand, too.

It was a long so-long, but all pairs of hands didn't fall back to their respective places at their sides until the other was out of sight, either gone at sea, or left behind with sandaled feet resting on rain-soaked sand, green eyes staring out at the spot where the little dot of a ship was last able to be seen.

That was the last the Roman Empire and little Southern Britannia saw of one another…

…_for a time._

* * *

><p>Two hundred years passed.<p>

Agricola had long since died; the Roman Empire had been kind enough to send the little island province a letter when he did. In remembrance of him, Britannia decided to plant another cypress tree, but this one, far closer to Fishbourne.

And things were…peaceful. As shockingly enough as that was; the Britons continued as best they could to live life the Roman way. And while that was, things were…content. But slowly, slowly, as the years passed, the lifestyle began to deteriorate. People became lazy in keeping up with the Roman traditions; they began to slack.

It began in 196, when the current governor of Britannia, Clodius Albinus, left to try and take over the Roman Empire with his three legions. This, of course, did not work. The next year, he was immediately sent back, but did not receive a warm welcome from the little personification of his charge when he returned. The little Britannia did not approve of any harm befalling Rome.

Things of course, since then, went up and down. There were times of peace, but then there were also times of war, of being attacked by outside forces. But the Roman Military, comprised both of Britons and Romans, had always been able to fend them off. They had always been there, even if Rome himself was not present. Once, even the Emperor, Septimius Severus, came to help fight against the northern tribes. That was in 208.

And then, there was peace.

Until 287.

It began with a man named Carasius.

At first, he had come from the Roman Empire as the little province's hero, out on a mission to get rid of the Saxon pirates terrorizing the shores. And he had had great success – but perhaps too much of it. His next mission was a personal one.

He declared himself Emperor of Britannia and Gaul.

* * *

><p>The chains felt cold and heavy, scraping against his thin wrists. <em>And<em> they were far too loud, chiming harshly whenever the rough metal collided with one another. Britannia winced, not at the pain of being pulled along by the chains, but at the noise. It seemed to echo much too loudly throughout the hallway for his little ears to handle.

When at last they had gotten to their destination, the guard leading him shoved him forward. The child turned around in that split second, hoping to slip out just as quickly and run – but the gate to his lonely cell (which seemed oddly comfortable; apparently his new 'emperor' didn't want his 'charge' to be mistreated) clanged shut. As the guard's deft hands worked diligently in locking it, Britannia decided to use that moment to its fullest potential.

"_You follow a vain cause, and an even vainer man," _he said with chin held high, even as his wrists were bound together in front of him._ "The Roman Empire will not let us go easily; my own people will not accept Carasius as leader. You have attained nothing, you idiot."_

"_Ha,"_ the guard retorted curtly, harshly. Apparently this was not the first time he had heard the boy say something like this. "_We have certainly attained _you_, you rat. You should not say such things when you have not the upper hand."_

That only egged the 'rat' on. With the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, the boy did the opposite of what the guard suggested. "_I hardly think you have any reason to boast either. Especially when the Roman Army will come and show you who really is Emperor; your puny military is nothing compared to their might. You think you can suddenly usurp power from the strongest empire in the whole world – ?"_

" – _shut up!"_

The guard clanged his fists loudly against the bars, the booming, resounding sound alone being what made the child jump in surprise. It echoed down the dark hallways for a moment, before finally silencing.

It was then he spoke again, lowly, threateningly. "_As soon as his Lordship's emperor status is complete, I will personally ask for the chance to kill you," _he sneered._ "And once you come to life, I will kill you again. And once more just so you will learn the consequences of being disrespectful to your authority, o sweet little Britannia."_ Sarcasm, evident, just as real as the spit he fired upon the metal bars in between them.

Then the guard marched off.

A smirk worked its way onto Britannia's face. For a moment he stood there, proud of the threat he had been handed, reveling in the feeling of being able to anger a guard of such status, and just as he was about to spin around and immediately begin looking for a way to escape, a sudden familiar voice made him freeze in surprise.

"_Still as stubborn as ever, I see, my adoptive little brother?"_

A sharp intake of air rushed through his lungs, and spinning around with new purpose and sudden fervor, little Britannia's bright green eyes widened when they landed upon a figure sitting in the shadows of the cell who he had not seen upon entering.

It was a long moment before he spoke, whispering in shock the other's name. "_Y-you're…Gaul…"_

"_Yes. It is me." _Lifting his head so the younger could see his face past his matted curly blonde hair, he offered a grin through dirtied, smudged lips. "_It has been a long time, Southern Britannia."_

For a long moment, the island couldn't speak. He felt he should have been angry – after all, weren't such emotions usually evoked into being by this exact person sitting in his same cell? – but he couldn't find a speck of that anywhere in his body, for some strange reason. There was only shock. "_G-Gaul…what are you doing here?"_

"_Well, I should think it obvious," _came the casual surprise. The other boy hopped onto the ground from where he sat on a cot, bare feet smacking against the floor as he did so. But no trace of pain flittered on to his face. There was only relaxed joy, as there always seemed to be. "_This new 'Carasius' declared himself Emperor of both Britannia _and _Gaul. Do you not remember? Or did you forget that latter, far more important, part?"_

Glowering – yes, _that_ was the kind of teasing he was used to from the other blonde – Britannia hissed back, "_No, I did not forget I just…did not expect to see you here, in my territory."_

"_It is not _yours – "

" – _you know well what I mean! It is still _my_ land!" _Frowning heavily and glaring at the older boy, Britannia cast his eyes over the other's figure just briefly, taking stock of his appearance. He looked as normal as ever, except for the fact that he was…dirty. Entirely. And the island nation knew his neighbor across the channel enough to know he hated getting himself in such a state. "_What happened to you?"_

Shrugging absentmindedly, Gaul responded, "_As shocking as it may seem, I did not come easily. I, too, wanted to stay with Grandfather Rome."_

Britannia nodded. "_I was much the same."_

An awkward silence settled between the two friends/enemies/surrogate brothers/rivals. Not quite sure what to say, but knowing he at least needed to say something, Gaul sighed and leaned against the nearest wall in a casual manner. His gazed passed to the only window in the area, a high square up outside their cell in the hallway. "_Do you truly believe he will come to save us…?"_

Britannia cracked a smirk, casting a side-glance at the older province. "_My, I am surprised at your lack of faith. You have known Rome longer than I have, and yet even now, still, you do not have confidence in his strength? The greatest empire in the world will not let go of his provinces easily. He will not be bested by a faker. I assure you of that."_

Blue eyes narrowed in confusion and skepticism. "_How are you so sure…?"_

"_Because that is what I would do." _

There was no trace of doubt in that voice, no lack of assurance. Britannia did not let his green eyes meet the questioning blue as the other did so, so as to not dare endanger himself to any thought of fear that they held. He did not want that.

He did not know that such a statement like that would cause the beginning of his downfall in a future far, far away.

* * *

><p><strong>History Notes: <strong>Well…most of the stuff included is pretty self explanatory. xD I'm not quite sure of the purpose of this section in this particular chapter, considering I explained most of it, but oh well.

Oh! Weddings! I can talk about that. 8D

Western culture's weddings have been largely, _largely_ influenced by the way the Romans did their weddings. xD Of course, typically, people married pretty young (12-14 usually – although sometimes, there were occasions when the girl was that old and the man was far, far older, say 20-30's, but that wasn't uncommon either; look at the Bible!). And in order to show to others that they were going to be married, usually they did have a "public show of a consent to marriage" such as holding hands in town. xD Kinda cute, I think.

And actually, according to my sources, although the tradition of cake originated from Roman times, only the bride and bridegroom and close family members ate it, I think. But there was a lot of food, and always a lot of drinking. Festivities could often last a week. No wonder Rome liked it so much. xD

Of course, there's all these other little details, too, that are interesting but we don't exactly follow today (considering the sad fact that no one waits until marriage to consummate anymore (sad sad sad face) ), like that the bride used to have a 'belt' that her mother would tie around her waist called the "knot of Hercules" that could only be removed by her husband later that evening~. xD

Oh! And one more thing – the ring! X3 An engagement ring was often typical, too, when the pair could afford it, and it was always worn on the same finger we wear wedding rings on today, because the Romans believed the nerves from that finger lead directly to the heart! Interesting, huh? 8D

Anyway, I'm done ranting. xD Who wants to learn about all this soddy wedding stuff anyway when the action is coming, lol?

I hope you all have a wonderful day. X3 Your reviews, your alerts, your favorites, everything means so much and make me a very very happy camper when I see them. I wish the same happiness to all befall you guys. (heart heart)

Until next chapter! 8D


	7. Much to Be Paid

**Crystal's Notes: **HOLY CARP I'M ALIVE.

Indeed. xD

…is there really much more to say? ;.; I don't want to bore you guys with the usual apologies—do understand, however, my apologies are sincere. Life…well, okay, life hasn't been nice. We'll put it that way.

But you guys know how that is. : ) So shall we get to the important stuff?

Oh, and due to a slight change of plans…there WILL be one more chapter. xD Because…I can do that. Rawr.

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><p>Things were not turning out as little Britannia was expecting them to.<p>

For starters, it was a miracle that he and Gaul were even able to work together at _all_ to come up with a plan of escape, even if it was, ironically, 6 years later that they finally were able to sit down and do so in as-companionably-a-manner-as-possible. What was even more amazing was that so far, unlike their previous plans, it was turning out pretty well. No one had seen them, no one had heard them so far. They were invisible, tiny figures slinking in the shadows, sliding against the walls and feet just barely brushing against the floor.

No, the much-perfected midnight escape was working pretty well. That much was fine, wonderful, for finally a plan was working! It was just that once they got to the room which had the window of planned exit, there were already two someone else's there. And normally, they would just wait until the two had left and then sneak in and by on their way. No problem.

Except when person 1 suddenly drew his sword and then killed person 2—who just so happened to be Carasius, self-proclaimed emperor of Gaul and Britannia, well…

…talk about a change of plans.

Surprised and suddenly filled with strange affection for this stranger (those 6 years spent in imprisonment did not help his liking of Carasius at all), Britannia wanted to jump out of the shadows and hug the man—if only Gaul didn't suddenly pull him back with his bigger and stronger arms, clamping a dirtied hand firmly over his mouth. But as much as he wriggled and tried to get out, Gaul's grip didn't relent.

And for good reason, as Britannia soon saw.

The murderer, after a pause, turned from the dead body and wiped his sword clean on a spare rag, a triumphant smirk on his face. He moved languidly, now, with all the luxury of someone who had finally won what they wanted.

"_And so begins the reign of Allectus…the _new_ emperor of Britannia and Gaul."_

And apparently, this person had very much gotten what he wanted.

_Drat._

So there went the affection for the stranger.

After the man—Allectus—passed by them and down the hall, out of sight, Britannia and Gaul finally decided to move. Escape first—talk later was the unanimous decision. Not that that was hard to decide. It wouldn't be long before Allectus would want to see his new charges, and when he was going to find that no one was there in their cell as they should be and that the guard was conspicuously missing…

…well, no emperor would be too happy at that revelation.

So they fled, pushing their legs as fast as they could. In a moment they had reached the forest, and without falter they then plunged into the leaves, protected by fauna.

Britannia led the way, agile and nimble, knowing this forest—his home—like the back of his hand. Every tree he passed he touched gently, fleetingly with his hand, feeling the familiar rough bark against his palm, yet also feeling so very sentimental. It was like greeting an old friend, reuniting with family—with the very surroundings he was part of.

It wasn't until after they had been running for a good ten minutes that they slowed down to a quick walk, jumping over roots and pushing aside stray branches as they continued to pave their way through the underbrush and foliage.

It was also then that Gaul decided to speak.

"_Can you believe what we have just witnessed?"_

Looking over his shoulder at the older nation, Britannia shrugged briefly before turning his attention back to the trail he was leading. "_Actually, I can. It is not like humans have not murdered one another before—"_

"—_but that does not make it _right," Gaul's voice was resolute like a plank of wood dug deep in mud. Britannia could feel his hard blue eyes on his back as he added, "_That Allectus murdered for power. It was not noble or brave—that was selfish. It was an act full of greed." _A small pause, accentuated by a tired sigh. "_Sometimes, humans can be so…awful."_

Stopping suddenly, Britannia spun on his foot to face the other blonde, his green eyes a blaze with fire. _"Stop it, Gaul."_

The elder one raised an eyebrow, shock in his eyes at their sudden halt and suspicion lining his lean frame in the moonlight. "_Stop what?"_

"_Talking like that. Using that tone. I do not like it."_

"_What tone?"_

There was a fragile silence before Britannia took the dive and broke it. "_You sound as if you are insinuating that they are different from us at heart. That they are the evil, and we are the good—that we are above such acts of cruelty."_

"_We are, are we not?" _Now Gaul was the one who looked challenging, confused, muscles beginning to tighten with the anticipation of a quarrel. "_We live for centuries of years—"_

"—_and yet we still make the same mistakes they do." _Green eyes hardened with defiance. "_We live centuries of years, and it only takes one human's willpower to change everything about a nation—what they live for, what they do, how they think. We commit murder in the same fashion those humans do—and you can't deny that—because we _are _them. We are not the better men, Gaul. We are the same—think about what the Roman Empire has done!"_

"_Does that mean you regret him?"_

Britannia froze, momentarily caught off-guard. Glancing briefly away, he finally then turned back to his grudging companion, answering, "_No." _A small pause. "_Do you?"_

Gaul shook his head. _"No."_

Once again, silence remained. Gaul watched his comrade for a long moment, blue eyes examining the smaller one's body language and posture, waiting until he felt it was right to ask it. "_I can vaguely understand what you mean, but that does not justify what Allectus has done."_

"_No," _Britannia agreed. "_But it should humble you to see the similarities between you and him, and _why _that is."_

It did. But Gaul would never say such a thing. Instead, he humphed, tossed his matted golden hair over his shoulder and continued to walk on, pushing past the island nation and entering into the thick foliage all around them. He had no idea where he was going, but Britannia didn't seem to object, so he walked on, assuming he headed in the right direction.

It would be a long, tense night.

* * *

><p>Roman Empire knew that word did not travel immediately. It would take time for messages to reach him, especially where he was at home in Rome, and normally, he was perfectly fine with that. Urgencies were able to be taken care of without a sweat; he never felt as if he were on the verge of being too late to stop any unwanted forces.<p>

He had heard of the usurper named Carasius. Yes, that bothered him. But more so, it amused him. Some little twerp thought they could take away the _Roman Emperor's _land? Please.

Then came the news nearly five years later, when he had finally gotten permission from his higher-up to send troops to win back their two provinces—that whoa, Carasius was dead. The deed was taken care of for him by someone else named Allectus. But well hey, now that the traitor was dealt with, there was no need to worry! He could relax.

…oh, there was plenty of reason to worry.

Allectus didn't kill Carasius, as they saw as the days passed on, to give it back to the emperor. He wanted that self-proclaimed throne for himself.

But he was also on the move, apparently. Word spread that the two little personified provinces had escaped where they were being held imprisoned, and were now "hiding" (although it really wasn't much of a hiding place if people knew where they were) in Londinium. They, as well as the rest of the Romano-British population, pleaded for help from Rome.

Allectus had besieged them.

And do take note that no father (or grandfather) or mentor or guardian or any world-conquering-empire takes lightly to the fact that their children, even if not related by blood, are threatened.

There was much to be paid for.

* * *

><p>But despite planned vengeances, time ticks onward. Another three years came and faded away like sand tossed to the wind. There one minute, gone from view and scattered the next.<p>

But things didn't change.

"_Britannia…I don't think he's coming…"_

It wasn't fair. _It wasn't fair._

The child gripped the edge of the open window sill he had been holding on to, the same hole in the wall that he had been watching, every free moment he had, to see if he could see the troops of his ruling empire coming over the horizon to save them. But every day, the results were still the same.

Their besieged landscape looked no different. It was still ever-threatening, still ever-tense. And, still raining.

He could hear Gaul behind him sigh, and he knew without looking that the older one was reaching for the back of his robe, trying to pull him away from the tormenting sights. "_Really, Britannia_," the other blonde muttered with half-hearted exasperation. "_You shouldn't do this to yourself. Come away from there—"_

"—_shut up, Gaul_," came the sharp reply, filled with disdain. Green eyes remained resolute, staring out the window instead of turning around to glare at the startled pair of blue. "_You do not understand. Even if you have been liberated and returned to Rome, I have not. This is important to me."_

It still wasn't fair.

After they heard the results of a battle in Northern Gaul that freed the blonde nation from the usurper-emperor (actually, it had been while Carasius was still alive, but they hadn't received word of the event until after the man was murdered), both provinces had been astounded—both had been shocked. But then one had been ecstatic, having wondered why, one day in the prison, he suddenly felt more light-hearted, and the other had been left feeling…forgotten. Unimportant.

He had almost never left the window since. That had been three years ago, in 293.

And it didn't help that the weather was awful, too. Although that was usual for his country, Britannia found himself especially cursing it at that moment. If it was this bad on the coast, and the Roman Empire was still coming to save them…then there was a chance they couldn't dock.

His chest constricting with worry, Britannia lowered his chin to the window sill, green eyes boring out into the storming landscape, searching—straining themselves to see any tell-tale flashes of shiny Roman armor.

None could be seen yet; only the old, ex-Roman armor of Allectus' men still dwindling about the city—_his _city.

Gaul, frowning, still hadn't left. He remained watching his northern relative just as strongly as the boy was watching the scenery, until finally, he thought he would try to persuade the younger to come down again. But just as he opened his mouth, he found he was met with a surprise.

Britannia straightened, head snapping up like a prairie dog's, a sharp intake of breath escaping him. His hands clenched the window sill tightly, suddenly enraptured with something he could and yet couldn't see.

"…_something is happening…"_

Gaul, thinking it was outside, ran to the other blonde's side, peering out into the murky storm, but he, too, couldn't see anything. He frowned, squinting his eyes with the strain to see what it was that Britannia spoke of. Still nothing appeared. "_What do you mean? What is happening?"_

"_I…I do not know…" _Slowly shaking his head, mystified, Britannia then caught himself, shook himself back to awareness, and then clarified, "_No—wait…there's fighting. Someone's fighting…only a handful of miles away…"_

Surprised, Gaul turned to Britannia, and as green immediately met blue they knew both of them were thinking the same thing. They had to have been—there was such strong assurance flowing through the both of them—who else could it be?

"_Rome!"_

Finally!

In unison, the two turned away from the window and bound down the stairs. Along the way, they grabbed their cloaks—one dark green and the other royal blue—that would help keep them at least somewhat dry and warm in the outside storm—and then burst outside, ignoring their attendants' calls about returning to the house for their health, for their safety. For their people.

But their human friends didn't understand; they had to go. They had to see him.

They had to help him.

(_Although_, they reminded themselves, _that was probably a very foolish thought, considering that this was the Roman Empire they were talking about here, and he didn't need any help from anybody—especially in times of war like these._)

But still. Perhaps if they couldn't help him, per se, then maybe they could thank him.

Maybe that would work just as well.

But for now, however, the most pressing concern was getting past Allectus' guards. If they could do that without getting caught, then they were free to run as fast and as far as they could to Rome. But if they were apprehended…

…then a lot of bad things would go down. Like, Allectus' army would get stronger, for instance.

They couldn't allow that. They had to keep quiet. They had to skirt around the enemy and keep to the shadows, unseen, unheard, undetected. And everything was going good. Oh, so good! But—

"—_ah-ha! Thought you could escape Londinium through our forces, hm_?"

Of course.

_Of course._

Leave it to the tensest moment of the war for them to be caught—leave it to fate to make the stakes even higher by letting them be apprehended at the climax of it all, naturally. _Stupid! _Panic and annoyance flooded throughout Britannia's being as he felt his arm roughly grabbed and pulled back by a stronger grip than his own. _No—_no! He had been so close—! "_Gaul! Run!" _he cried, but it was a vain use—the other blonde had been caught as well, both arms behind his back even as he struggled wildly to escape.

It was hard to see through the pelting rain, but Britannia could swear he saw a look of fear in those blue eyes as they gazed widely at him, shakily. He didn't want to be caught again. _He didn't want to be usurped again._

_I knew this would happen…I knew this would happen…!_

And suddenly…in a moment of strange, unusual clarity, as he clenched his eyes shut, trying to bridle in his raging and heightened emotions, Britannia could remember the past three years—and in those years, he could suddenly, at that moment, also remember all that Gaul had done for him during that time. They may have passed by dully—sure, they may have passed by uneventfully while besieged with nothing to do inside Londinium than hide and pray and eat and sleep—but the fact that, _for three whole years_ the already-freed province had stuck by him while he moped and sulked and had been angry; that fact alone…

…well, although he hated to say it, he owed him. And he couldn't let this happen to him—to them. Else he would never forgive himself for getting Gaul recaptured when Rome had already worked so hard to free him.

Forget his secret fears of there being favoritism in their midst.

Filled with rage and courage, Britannia snapped his eyes open and suddenly started to writhe again in grasp that tried to keep him still, kicking, maneuvering so it was painful for the hands that bound him—all the while, repeating his mantra that he couldn't let this happen to them—he couldn't fail Rome like this—he couldn't—

—but then…he felt, with startling recognition, the cold steel of a blade pressed to the front of his neck threateningly, the sharp, jagged edge digging dangerously into his skin.

_Darn it._

He went still, hardly able to breathe from the fear of slicing his own throat open by panting so vigorously.

The guard's mouth was close to his ear.

"_Do not even consider another move, you stupid brat."_

Despite the entire situation, and the heavy amount of adrenaline still coursing through him, Britannia felt the edge of his mouth quirk upward into a tiny smirk. If he could, he would have laughed. He really would have. How utterly amusing for them to think that he wouldn't rebel; that he would simply give up like that.

He hadn't waited in hiding for three years to suddenly be caught by the enemy and taken hostage once more. Things didn't work that way—not while a nation.

Without thinking—in his defense, he_ did_ feel quite provoked—Britannia jerked his feet backward, holding his breath—although that was in vain, because still he could feel the blade slice skin, and although he tried not to cringe; tried to stay relaxed so his muscles wouldn't bleed so much or spasm, he could still feel that sharp, cold metal dig—

—then his bondage was gone, and he was miraculously—and he instantly knew, not by his own doing—freed.

Gasping for air, the blonde nation collapsed to his knees, a hand flying up to the thin, precise abrasion on his throat that still ran clear, vivid red. He could hear Gaul shout in surprise, "_Rome_!" And then—well. Wait. All sensible thoughts simply shut down.

…_R-Rome_…?

"_What do you think you are doing?"_

Oh sweet Boudicca…

_That _was Rome. And oh, oh how delightful angry Rome sounded! Relief and happiness trembled up Britannia's spine, all just from hearing his rightful, beloved empire's voice. Instantly, he scrambled on his knees to look behind him and at the scene—and oh, how vengeance was sweet.

Rome in battle, Rome threatening, with that gleam in his blue eye, was more intense than he had imagined.

The tall, muscular man had the guard that had caught Britannia up by his throat, his thick hand cutting off all of the man's oxygen levels as he glared heatedly into the other's eyes. The intimidation factors flew off the charts. "_I ask you—I ask both of you once more. What do you think you are doing to _my _provinces?"_

The one still holding Gaul, the only one that really could talk, answered as bravely as he could—but there was an undeniable tremor in his voice. "_They are not _yours, _soldier. They belong to Allectus."_

An amused smile played on Rome's lips he turned from the man he was strangling, threw that poor fellow to the ground (leaving him hacking and coughing there for much-desired air) as he stepped towards the second guard threateningly, making sure to maneuver carefully around his wounded little one as he did so. Yet he never once did remove his eyes once from the intimidated guard holding Gaul, who stepped back shakily as Rome approached them.

"_You called me 'soldier,'" _the brunette commented idly enough. "_Interesting. So I suppose that means you do not know with whom you are dealing with."_

"_Ha!" _the guard tried to laugh, but it came out more as a bark. "_Stupid, empty words. You cannot make me fear you with them."_

Rome wasn't daunted. "_They ring with truth. You are a fool not to hear it."_

That made the guard falter. Finally, he looked at the man nearing him with true fear in his eyes. "…_h-hear what?"_

"_Britannia, Gaul, close your eyes."_

And what happened next, neither of the provinces would ever truly know. Loyal to their commander, loyal to their empire, it was part of the agreement that you obey nearly everything they command—even if it was as silly as something like closing your eyes—they did indeed shut them and keep them tightly closed. They didn't reopen them until they could hear Rome's voice, a particularly short distance in front of Britannia, say, "_All right. Now you may look."_

And to open your eyes and see with startling clearness through the rain, your empire's face—one you haven't seen in over two hundred years—Britannia could hardly be blamed for jumping to his feet to tackle the man in his joy.

Except, there was a problem.

"_Rome_—!"But as soon as he sprang to his feet, the world decided to jump, too. Everything swayed dangerously, tilting, and the smile and excitement that ran through his blood dwindled as vertigo took its place. Britannia reached out to grab something as he lost the ground—

—but he needn't worry. Two strong arms caught him and cradled him, their owner speaking gently to him. "_Hold on there, _meus tener unus._ You may not think it, but you have lost a significant amount of blood. I would advise you not to move or talk too much until we get you back to the governor's house. Do you understand?"_

Britannia nodded numbly, his breathing becoming so much more of a struggle than he remembered. He clutched the tassels dangling from Rome's armor with as strong as a grip as he could, determined not to lose consciousness. Not while Rome was here, after having returned to him finally. He just needed to…stay conscious…and keep that ringing out of his ears…as well as that foggy headache…

Just as his vision started to swim, he found the strength to murmur laboriously, "_You…you came back…"_

Rome pulled him closer, standing up. He must have gestured with his head to Gaul or something for one reason or another—because for a moment, he couldn't feel the presence of that face there. Then, once more, it was bent over his own—almost as if in prayer.

"_Yes. I did. But I am sorry I did not come sooner."_

To even his own shock, Britannia could feel a single tear escape from his eye and drift down his cheek. He swallowed—which seemed an incredible feat to him; he could feel his strength fade. "_No…" _His throat was so tight, it made that word alone so hard to utter. "_…I should be the one sorry, Rome."_

But there was so much to say. So little time. He could feel the pressure in his head grow, and his breath become shallower. Panic crawled up his chest and through his throat—he had something to say—something of dire importance that needed to be understood—before he—

"_Rome…you…"_

But then he could hold on no longer—and against his will, the last thing Britannia could remember was a tight squeeze on his body and the start of wind—as if suddenly, in urgency, Rome had begun running.


	8. Meus Tener Unus

**Crystal's Notes: **There's a lightbulb flickering on and off above my bed…I think it's symbolizing my creativity levels as of late.

ANYWAY. So…now we have our final chapter of FMtY. X3 A bit…sad. But yet, it's not the end. MCS, which is connected to this, is still going (and will be…for a while; can't believe I chained myself to a monster of a project like that—what was I THINKING?). So, I'm not going to miss the work too much…

But I will miss the _fun _some of the chapters were to write. X3

I hope you all have enjoyed, and I hope you continue to enjoy, and I hope you feel all of the affection and love I have for you all as I now pass on to you—MY OWN gift from me to you—the final chapter of "From Me to You."

Please have a wonderful day.

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><p>Really, there had been nothing to worry about. He was a province—and his people were all right, saved and reunited with the Romans and their culture. So, naturally, he was going to be okay.<p>

_Everything _was going to be okay.

Two days had passed since the little province had been rescued. Gaul had left right away to return home after the danger had passed—not that Britannia missed him at all, no, he was glad the brat was gone and he didn't have to worry about feeling guilty about him anymore—but the Roman Empire himself had stayed for a while. There were things to catch up with his most cumbersome little province, after all, because being an immortal person or not—two hundred years is a mighty long time.

But even after reminiscing and laughing and crying at the sweet taste of memories, life goes on.

And after all the time and adventures he had experienced with his ruling empire, Britannia knew this fact both wonderfully and awfully well.

"_You are going to leave again, soon."_

Rome looked up from where he was standing, hunched over, gathering his things. His gaze locked onto the boy in bed, thin blanket on his lap as he sat up. There was a bandage around his neck—the only evidence from the rescue that had taken place two nights ago. By all other measures, he was completely fine, both physically, mentally and spiritually. Which…was why he was leaving. Why it was time to go.

His job here was done.

But that didn't make it easy to go. And sometimes, Rome reminded himself with a sigh as he walked over to the small blonde's bedside and sitting down on the large pillow that made up Britannia's bed, being an empire that ruled over so many little, scattered provinces was just…_awful._

Especially when you cared for each and every one of them.

"_Yes_," the tall brunette finally responded, looking over to Britannia with his eyes full of understanding and apology. "_I have to return home."_

Britannia nodded to himself, glancing down at his hands. There was a long silence for a moment as he slowly mulled this over in his mind, making sure to take this better—and more honestly—than he did last time. After a great pause, he found the words to speak up again, clearing his throat quietly so he could be heard while mumbling, "_I want to say…what didn't get to say it before…which is thank you…Rome."_

But he wasn't done yet. Just as the older one was opening his mouth to brush if off—an instinctive response, such as swatting mindlessly at a buzzing gnat—Britannia interrupted and continued. "_Not…just for saving me." _Green eyes hesitantly lifted to blue. "_But for…everything else, too."_

Everything else.

For what the words implied, the corner of Rome's mouth twitched upward into a fond smile. "_I did what I had to, _meus tener unus. _It was my duty as your empire." _With a sudden chuckle, he drew his knuckles against the younger one's cheek lightly, a pretending punch. "_And who knows? Maybe someday you will be doing the same thing, teaching little provinces of your own, ruling a several vast lands far from home."_

That made Britannia smile. "_Maybe. But if that is the case, then I definitely will not start acquainting myself with my provinces with something like a bath. I somehow still do not think that was the wisest choice."_

Rome tilted his head back and laughed a good, great, hearty deal. After his good bout of laughing had ceased, he shook his head and wagged a finger between them, as if they were cohorts—secret persons of an underground society. "_No. I am afraid something like that only happens once in a world's lifetime. After all, two nations like us do not always meet up in the long timeline, and not always under such absurd circumstances."_

Britannia cracked a smirk at him. "_I suppose that means we are both abnormal."_

"_Weird, I would say."_

"_Hm. Yes, I like that word better, too."_

Silence enveloped them after that, soft and sweet like fleece. Britannia took a breath, changing the subject with a gentle shrug, "_So when do you leave?"_

"_Tomorrow."_

Britannia nodded, looking away briefly as silence claimed the conversation once more. But then, suddenly, a peculiar observation struck him and he smirked, turning back to his ruling empire. "_You must like staving off important details until the last second. You didn't give me a fair warning last time when you left, either."_

The Roman Empire, giving a sheepish grin, leaned back as he scratched the nape of his own neck in mild embarrassment. "_I…am not good with farewells. Nor with…seeing the disappointed face of a child." _With a smirk his blue eyes met the green fields of his small province's. "_So I guess I never had the heart."_

"_Yet you are the Roman Empire, who squashes territories and armies under his sandal without breaking a sweat." _Britannia raised an eyebrow at him, studied his mentor, and then chuckled, suddenly amused. _"Figures. You _are_ weird. And yet somehow, despite your strength, it makes sense that it should be the face of a child that gets through to you, above all other evils in this world."_

"_That is because a child accepts gifts."_

Britannia blinked blankly at him, suddenly and terribly confused. "_…what?"_ Gifts? Children? What did that have to do with the Roman Empire being soft? Indeed, the ideas seemed completely irrelevant—not to mention a bit…creepy.

But Rome merely laughed. "_Here is what I mean_. _It is that with a child, I can leave an imprint. I can give to them all that I know—all my knowledge, all my stories—I can pass on my legacy, and hope that it arms them for their own future. With an enemy, I can only make him fear me." _Blue eyes paused a moment, focused on something else than the bedcloth they were staring at. "_And if there is one thing over the many, many years I have been alive…it is that it is much better to be loved and admired, than feared and respected."_

Britannia watched him carefully. After a long pause of simply studying his friend, he asked, "_Is that another 'gift' to me?"_

Rome smirked at him, finally looking at the boy again, his thoughts having returned to the current day. "_Yes, I suppose so. Another gift…from me to you_. _I hope what meager wisdom I pass on to you will do you well one day._"

Britannia nodded confidently, no doubt in his green eyes. Only fondness. "_I think it will."_

There was another moment of long silence, before Rome finally reached out and placed his hand upon the top of Britannia's crazy blonde locks—much like he had after the scary incident in the woods, in which they had apologized, talked, and somehow…accepted one another.

Which…that reminded Britannia of something. Something the two had said to one another at the bath house—which seemed like ages ago.

"_You have my word and trust, now, by the way."_

Rome looked surprised, blinking at the boy. Apparently, the much older nation didn't seem to recall the conversation, and gazed confusedly at his charge. "_What?"_

Britannia let a quiet laugh escape him. He couldn't help it now—he was getting a bit sentimental. He could feel it, that mushy softness growing in his chest and soaking in all the bittersweet feelings within him. Who would have thought that a boy so set on fighting off the Roman Empire would suddenly…be so sad to part with him?

Two hundred years can change a person.

And as he then lurched forward and outright _hugged _Rome's middle, he couldn't help his own comment, either. "_Do not worry about it_. _Do not worry about it at all._ _Think of it as…my own gift. From me to you, too…_meus tener unus."

My dear one.

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><p><strong>Ending Notes: <strong>Well…it's done. xD My series of ficlets have come to an end. About time, too…so now I can hunker down on all my other stories.

Thank you SO much for all of you who embarked with me on this uncertain journey of ficlet-writing with a very unusual duo for main characters! xD Honestly, I really, really appreciate it. Please enjoy cyber-cookies, punch, and nuggets complimentary of moi. Because I love you all; you've all been too kind to me.

And stay tuned, because the adventures don't stop here. : ) There's always, as usual, more to come~.


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